Pam Rhodes - broadcaster, Songs of Praise presenter and novelist - explains how, years later, the loss of her mum still hits as hard as it ever did.
Broadcaster, presenter and novelist, Pam Rhodes.
It still gets me - the sight of a box of Liquorice Allsorts. My mum loved them, and so do I. Every Christmas, we bought each other an identical box and I ate all the liquorice sticks and she ate all the pink coconut circles. But then, six years ago, we lost her. I know she was tired, ill and ready to go, but the pain of knowing she's no longer here to talk to, share with, love and be loved by still feels raw and deep.
How ridiculous is that? I'm in my sixties! I'm a mum myself and a grandmum too - and yet there I am, standing in a supermarket aisle feeling like a big kid on the verge of tears. I just miss her every single day. I miss our chats and the way she told me the truth, even when I didn't want to hear it. She could always make me laugh, mostly at myself. I loved hearing her speak of dad and the ups and downs of their lives together until, tragically, when they were still in their early forties, cancer claimed his life. She was left with not much money and three young children to bring up, but with her typical courage and resourcefulness, she rolled up her sleeves and set to work.
The future looks a little less rosy - and your mum, your very best friend, confidante and counsellor, is not there to share it with.
Perhaps she got too used to managing alone, because she showed no interest in getting married again. She said she'd married the man she loved, and had no wish to replace him. That meant she lived alone for nearly forty years, but never once complained of loneliness. She took such enjoyment in hearing about her children's, and then her grandchildren's lives, always full of interest, encouragement and pride in a way that supported us and spurred us on to greater heights.
Until she died just before her 86th birthday, I'd spoken to her every day throughout my life. I wanted to make sure someone asked her at least once a day how she was feeling, then really listen to the answer. Don't we all need that?
Am I overreacting? Well, apparently not, because I've been struck lately by how many of my contemporaries are also losing their parents, and express a similar reaction. Some have spoken of feeling almost "orphaned" to find they are now the older generation. The buck stops with them. The future looks a little less rosy - and your mum, your very best friend, confidante and counsellor, is not there to share it with.
I wish I could tell her how inspirational she's been to us all, her children and grandchildren, in the way we've all gone on to express her legacy of loving guidance in our own lives. I wish I could tell her how often I remember her hugs, her company and her lovely smile. And the Allsorts, of course. I still eat the liquorice sticks first, then leave all the pink coconut ones for her. Daft, eh?
Pam's new book, Casting the Net (The Dunbridge Chronicles: Book 2), is published by Lion Fiction, paperback, £7.99.
