For Mum

I started writing this on your birthday.

You once made me promise I would.

You couldn't remember what I'd told you, only that you knew it was important.

I remembered.

Happy birthday, Mum. This one's yours.

Tracey's mother, arms outstretched with joy, on her husband's shoulders
“'Ere we go, 'ere we go, 'ere we go.” — the Koala Challenge, taken on
Tracey's mother climbing onto her husband's shoulders, mid-attempt
She was eighty. He was eighty-two. Neither of them saw a reason not to.
A large yellow lion, sitting on the bed
Ten days after Mum died, a large yellow lion turned up at the house.

Her colour was yellow. She was a Leo. Dad sleeps with him every night. We didn't hold a family conference about probability. We just looked at him and thought: well, yeah — it's Mum, innit?

I believe Mum is now part of the energy that is waiting, unless of course pieces of her have already been scooped into some little u somewhere.

I wish them well with her.

She was a firecracker.

I made her a promise.

I fulfilled it.

And I really hope you give someone three seconds.