My mum is 89 now, and she moved in with me a couple of years ago. Every morning, around half seven, I can hear her getting up. Then she starts chatting quietly to her elderly cat, Daisy, and puts out her breakfast. After that, she makes her own breakfast and settles with a cup of tea on the sunny patio until shes properly awake.
Once shes up and about, she grabs the mop and does a full circuit of the househonestly, its pretty big, about 240 square metres. She calls it her daily workout. If she fancies, shell rustle up something to eat, tidy the kitchen, or get stuck into her usual stretches.
In the afternoon, its time for her beauty ritual, which is always evolving. Some days shell rummage through her massive wardrobeit’s really something, almost like a designer museum. She gives some outfits to me, passes others on to friends or even sells the occasional piece, like a real entrepreneur. Im always joking with her, saying, If youd invested all that money, youd be living in luxury now!
She just laughs and tells me, I like my clothes. Besides, one day itll all be yours. Your sister, bless her, has absolutely no sense of style.
To keep us both going, we head out around five times a week for a three-mile walk around the local lake. And once a month she has a proper girls night out with her friends. Shes always reading, digging through my bookshelves, and every day she chats on the phone with her sister, Helen, whos 91 and lives in Brighton. Helen visits us twice a yearshes still working as an accountant for a private client, by the way.
Apart from Daisy the cat, her other greatest joy is the tablet I gave her last Christmas. She reads everything she can about her favourite authors and composers, keeps up with the news, watches ballet and operashes unstoppable. More than once Ive heard her near midnight, muttering to herself, I should sleep now, but YouTube put Pavarotti on all by itself
Honestly, Mum and her sister have struck gold in the genes department. But still, my mum often grumbles, I look dreadful! I try cheering her up, telling her, Mum, at your age most people would have kicked the bucket by nowI just shake my head, smiling, and tell her the truth: she radiates something far brighter than youthshe beams with life itself. Every time she laughs at my jokes, fusses over Daisy, or spins in front of the patio mirror in a new scarf, Im reminded of how lucky I am. Theres a quiet magic in our days together, as familiar and comforting as her morning tea.
Most evenings, we sit together as the sun slips behind the hedges, talking about old memories and plotting tomorrows little adventures. Sometimes I catch her looking at me with that twinklehalf mischief, half wisdomand I realize that while time has gifted her silver hair and gentle aches, it has also sculpted a woman whose spirit is fierce and unbreakable.
One night, as she watched the stars glimmer above us, she said softly, If you want to know the secret to it alljust keep moving, keep loving. And dont forget to dress up for dinner, even if youre just with the cat.
I laughed, but later, as I tucked Daisy into her basket and Mum counted out her ear-rings on the coffee table, I understood. Every routine, every ritual, is her way of saying yes to lifeevery single day. And in that simple, joyful rhythm, weve found our own kind of forever.
