My Mum and Dad
My mum was a beautiful woman. I say was because she passed away six months ago, outliving my dad by just two weeks. And though theyd both lived well into their eighties, it still feels to me like they had too little time. After all, they were my mum and dad.
So, yes my mother really was a beauty. I know this, not just because I was her son, but because even a son can see these things as a man. My dad would remind me of it all the time. Even when Mum would get cross with me over poor marks at school or some other childish blunder, Dad would come into my room, sigh deeply, sit down next to me, pressing his hands between his knees like I did, and after a long silence, hed finish our quiet conversation by saying:
Listen, son, dont take it to heart with your mum Yes, she shouted, yes, she scolded a bit. But you and I, were hardly easy to deal with! And she well, shes our girl. We both need her like air. Why not go and say sorry to her?
And me? Id take a huge breath, ready to blurt out some indignant protest, glaring in Dads direction. But hed see the storm coming, stretch out his hand with his palm toward me as if to clamp my mouth shut, and say quietly but firmly,
And dont you dare say a single bad word about my wife!
And I would deflate, unable. You see, I loved Dad. I loved Mum too. Loved them both dearly.
Thats because I knew how they became husband and wifeDad told me in secret from Mum, and Mum, from Dad.
Mum was in her first year at university, planning to marry some chap named Edward. One evening, Edward brought his friend Brian along to meet her, since Brian had just arrived in our large city and didnt know what to do with himself for an entire evening. So Edward invited him along basically to tag along on his date with his almost-fiancée.
Edward introduced Brian to my soon-to-be mother. (Youll have guessed: Brian was to be my future father.)
The three of them spent the evening togetherwandered in the park, sneaked onto the roof of a pavilion to watch a terribly funny old film at the open-air cinema so they wouldnt have to buy tickets. That was Dads bright idea (Edward would never have thought of such a thing!). Dad got Mum up onto the roof too, becauseunlike Edwardhe was already broad-shouldered and strong. Edward, whom I never met, just didnt measure up, I could tell, even without seeing him.
Edward spent the evening cracking jokes, reading poems, and telling stories about how he and Mum would live once they finished university. Dad, meanwhile, stayed silent and simply listened (according to Mum). And when it was time to leave, Dad took Mums small, warm hand in his big, warm one, and said,
Violet! You dont need him. Marry me instead.
Mum was so startled, she asked,
When?
Dad, dead serious, answered straightaway,
Tomorrow
And just to absolutely dumbfound Mum (and Edward!), he added,
Well have a son together, and well both love him to bits. Because of that, well love each other even more. And well name him Georgelike the saint, you know
All right, Mum agreed at once, and thats how they married.
Edward was best man at the wedding.
After finishing university, Mum and Dad moved to Cumbria together for workboth of them had geologist-surveyor listed on their degrees. There, up among the hills, they were given their first flat: the manager of the local quarry transformed a cluttered storeroom attached to the community hall into a home just for themthe much-anticipated new specialists.
In due course, their long-awaited son was born. That was meGeorge. And as Dad promised, they loved me to bits, both of them.
Dad begged a retired mare called Alexandra from the nearby stables to fetch Mum and me home from hospital. As we approached our storeroom flat (this was Dads tale), we saw Edward at the door, clutching a new zinc baby bath hed managed to get hold of through some dodgy connection. That bath became my first tub and, at first (so Mum claimed), my cot too: shed tuck a big feather pillowpart of her dowryinside it and cover it with a bedsheet. Thats where I lay. When it was bath time, the pillow would go on Mum and Dads bed for a bit, while I was bathed. Dad would rush home after work to be sure he was part of these ritualsnot just for the red horse, but, no, for his son. Hed hold my head (according to Mum), while she lovingly washed her prince.
Well, I never did turn out a princebut I think I became a fairly decent geologist, just like my parents.
And funny enough, my own wife is a geologist too. We met at work, just after university. My mum was especially fond of my Hannah from the start, and Dad was as well. Whenever they came to oursor we visited themand Dad and I would pop out for a smoke, hed say,
You know I reckon I hit the jackpot twice: once when I met your mother, and again when you married Hannah. Be good to hershes our girl, just like Mum.
Dad died suddenly one night. Mum knew straightaway he was gonewoke up at once
After he passed away, she aged rapidly and grew forgetful. She even forgot Dad was gone. We moved her in with us, but shed sit at the window, waiting, always waiting for Dad to come home from work. Right up until her last day, she kept making her famous homemade burgers, the way Brian liked themOne late afternoon, with the last light painting the living room gold, Mum perked up from her chair by the window. She peered intently at the road, her thin fingers tapping the armrest. I was passing through with a mug of tea when she looked up at meeyes unexpectedly sharp, a spark of the old mischief flickering there.
George, she whispered, as if she might wake someone, do you remember the way your father used to whistle? That silly little tune from the park? And before I could answer, she hummed a few barssoft, wavering, but unmistakable. It tugged at something deep in my chest.
I sat with her. We watched the empty street. She talked of the hills, the old flat, and Alexandra the mare. She spoke of Edward, and for a moment, she was that clever, certain young woman, sure of her choice, laughing at the world.
As dusk settled and the first star appeared, Mums hand found mine. Hes late tonight, she murmured. But hell come. He always comes for me.
There was nothing left to say, so I squeezed her hand and waited with her. I imagined Dad walking up the lane, grinning, jacket slung over one shoulder, ready with one of his gentle scoldings and a wink meant only for Mum. I realized that somehow, in her waiting and remembering, she kept him alivenot in body, but in all the stories, love, and laughter theyd shared.
A few days later, she slipped away quietly, holding my hand. I like to think she saw him thensmiling, patient, and reaching for her across all those years. Maybe, now, somewhere beyond our windows and worries, theyre together, love growing only deeper, just as Dad promised.
And as for mewell, I go home to Hannah every evening. I take her hand. I remember: we only get the time were given, and if were lucky, we find our girl and never let go.
