Happy Birthday to the most precious mum that could have ever been.
You were an inspiration in my life, all 18 years of knowing you. You were a lovely, young, nurturing, hippy mum who loved her husband and children and wanted nothing more in life than to be at home making a nest for your family.
I didn't appreciate that enough about you, while I was a teenager. Being a teenager of the 80's I was me, me, me focussed. It's only when I became a mumma myself, did I properly realise what a wonderful ,wonderful thing you did for us. You chose us over a career {not that there's anything wrong with a career}. You chose to be home for us when we got home from school. When we were tired and hungry you were pulling cakes and bikkies out of the oven for us to devour. You tried so hard to stop me from running my finger around the edge of the freshly iced chocolate cake, but you never, ever succeeded and you never ever got very angry at all. Tolerance. Patience. You had so much patience. I wish I had more. Just a skerrick of your patience would have been a blessing.
You never judged what we said. We could tell you anything and you wouldn't make us feel bad about it. We trusted you. You were free with us. Sometimes we took that for granted. Sometimes we took that too far. You never made me brush my hair. You never controlled what I wore. You never made us do anything we didn't want to do. You didn't force us to do things that we didn't feel comfortable with. But I willingly loved to help. I loved helping you in the house. I loved cooking with you and cleaning and hanging out with Sarah and Tom as bubbas. I didn't like sewing though. I still don't. I can't do it. I missed that genetic link somehow. I didn't appreciate your love of gardening until I had my own house and garden. Now I'm obsessed. I see now what you loved about gardening. It's therapeutic, like you said.
You never blamed. You never shamed. You were never critical. You never compared us to each other or to anyone else. You accepted us for who were were and never did I ever feel your disapproval. Never. You very rarely got angry. Weird. Maybe you should have got a little more angry at times. Maybe you should have vented about your own feelings a bit more. I think it would've been helpful.
Once, when I went to have some counselling, as I wasn't coping well after your death, the counsellor told me that grieving children of dead parents end up idolising the parent who has died. She told me that they put them on a pedestal. A pedestal that they never would have put them on had they still been alive. I thought long and hard about that. I didn't agree. I don't think everyone does do that. I do. But you were a fantastic mum and I'd tell you that right now, if you were here and not there.
I know about the sinful nature. I believe we all have one. You did too. I don't worship you in that way. But man, I was blessed to have a mother like you. I was so, so blessed. You are on my pedestal. That's OK. It's not idolising in a wrong way but rather it's just me understanding how blessed I was. How blessed we all were, to have you in our lives. It was waaaay too short. Even shorter for Sarah and Tom. But we had you none the less. For that I will forever be grateful. Forever.
Tears are flowing right now. They a pouring like the rain outside my lounge room window. I haven't cried for you in a while. It doesn't mean I've forgotten you though. Never. That could not happen. You made such an impact in my life. In our lives. That will never ever fade. It feels good to have the tears flow again. I feel connected.
Thank you for all you gave while you were on this earth. Thank you for your gentle manner and your beautiful and quiet ways.I wish I could have had a bit more of your quietness. I'm sure Dad wishes that too.
I wish you could have talked to me a bit more about the cancer. I wish I could have had some more things to remember you by. Some more of your things. But you didn't value things. You were happy with less. I need to be more like you.
I wish I could have asked you some of the adulty sort of things I would want to ask you now. But I was young when you died. I didn't know what I'd need to know, what I'd want to know, now. I didn't know what being a mum was going to be like. I didn't know about all of things a new mum needs to know from their own mum. It's OK though.
So, on what would be your 57th birthday, I remember you with such love. A beautiful, gentle, kind and nurturing mum and friend. You were such a great friend. You would've been a wonderful grandmother, if only you had lived past your young 36 years. I wish you here now to see my lovely, lovely boy. You'd love him. He'd love you. Sarah's kids would love you. Josh's kids would love you.
The Lord had a different plan. I submit to that. I accept it. I still feel a sense of loss but time certainly does heal and now I think of you without such a heavy heart but more with lovely, lovely memories of a special, special woman.
Thank you, Mum. Thank you for everything.
Happy Birthday. Love you forever,
Your daughter
Kim xxxxxxxxx
{bad photo, sorry!}
Is that enough of a look? The journal from 3 different angles! 
YAH! Felicity from Gifts Of Serendipity ! I so hope you enjoy them. Congratulations, Felicity and thanks for following and reading here xx
