Several months ago I tried to come to terms with the fact that I may never see my mother again, when I was isolated for health reasons during the first wave of COVID-19.
She is currently living in what the late Sir Terry Wogan used to refer to as a “home for the bewildered”, and a good one too.
The home has immediate access to a lovely public park that we used to enjoy as a family. Last time I visited I was able to take Mother out to the park in a wheelchair and relive old memories.
This week she has undergone minor surgery to remove a cyst on her arm. Thanks to my sister for accompanying her for that.
But there has been an outbreak of the virus in the home, and in any case Mother will be confined to her room for 14 days on return to the home.
My Mum has not had an easy life. As a teenager in the 1940s she was working for her dad by delivering vegetables by bicycle to his customers and helping her mum to care for her new twin brothers.
In 1952 she married a widower and took on a 4 year old son, to be followed by me in 1954 and my sister in 1959.
Mum used to load us onto the pram and walk the 5 miles to town and then, with her shopping list, would check every shop in the high street for the best price before walking back and buying the groceries, and then the 5 miles home again.
In 1976 Dad died, after 13 years of a crippling illness, leaving her little more than the house. She soldiered on, working as a “Dinner lady” at my old school and in the local library.
She took on the task of caring for my 2 children while I was working long hours for a year after my divorce in 1978.
Mum has always been there for us. I have not always been there for her.
She is now 91. I hope to be able to visit her sometime before it’s too late.
In the meantime, thanks Mum for everything.
General Whiskers' semi-historical wanderings 