I miss my Mum.

I really miss her. This is the longest time I've ever gone without speaking to her, and its only going to get longer. I want to call her and tell her how well the funeral went and who came and things that are going on. I want to tell her about our night away and show her the flowers people sent me, and the flowers people bought for her. I want to tell her what I plan to do next. I want to thank her for everything and say I'm sorry for not being patient with her and not taking her seriously when she said she thought her time had come. Why would I think that? she only had a chest infection.

I feel guilty for leaving her little house alone, almost as if it's a pet or something alive. Not being cared for the way she did. The lights aren't coming on at night, nothing is being moved. It's all still where she left it. I'm dreading having to move everything. I know that weeds will be growing in between the bricks on her front path, and she's never going to pull them up.

I know people are genuine when they say to call them if I need anything or I need company, but I can't. It's past one in the morning on a school night, for God's sake. Who the hell do I call and tell them I'm upset? Who do I ring and ask if they think she's still here somewhere, just a veil away, or if your lights go out and you're gone? Who do I ask at this time in the night? I'm fighting back tears often and I know it's the wrong thing to do, but I don't want to impose myself on other people. I know I could have called her and told her how upset I was, because she was there for me. But I can't, because she's gone. I can't be real. No way has she gone. How could she be gone? she's my Mum.

Better.

One of the funniest stories my Mum ever told me, was about a time she was out shopping. I was working at the council at the time and we'd met for lunch. She'd had mushy peas (or sloppy peas as she used to call them) and they often had an immediate and, not uncommon side effect on her. When ever she ate them, she always warned whoever she was with that the was taking a bit of a chance, and so she'd apologise in advance for any 'wind' they may have to encounter.

Anyway, she's walking through the shops in our local shopping centre and decided that the inevitable was about to happen. Now, my Mum was never too worried about where she was when she farted, and since her hysterectomy several years ago, she could produce a sound that would shame a camel. We used to say she had a bigger wind capacity since shed had her 'big end' out. I'm not exaggerating here; I've never heard anything like it. She showed no shame and often in the knowledge that people would assume it was me, rather than the sweet, tiny little lady that she was, would just drop one anywhere. She'd then cross her legs and go all weak at the knees, trying not to pee herself laughing. She had issues, my Mum.

She decided that this was big enough, that she'd wait until she got to the car, just in case the unthinkable happened. (I'm not going to expand on that) So she saved it. Not for long, but a long time for her. She got to her little car in the car park, and braced herself against the door. She did it in style; bent over slightly, with an expression of relieve we only experience at the most sublime moments. When she told me about it, she stressed that even for her, it was a shocker. She didn't know what it was that made her turn around and look at the car parked right next to her, but as she turned, she saw some poor man, sitting in his car with the window rolled down, reading his paper. Poor bastard was less than a foot away from her arse when she did it, and when I imagine it, I see the guys Daily Mail flutter at the corner, under the gust of wind that assaulted him.

She did what only she would do; she looked him in the eye, grabbed her skirt, wafted it for effect and said 'ohhhh, that's better' then got in her car, and drove away. Laughing so hard she nearly crashed the car.

Mo Ripley: May 1945 - October 2009