What Really Matters
''A happy family is but an earlier heaven'', George Bernard Shaw
What really matters?
I was one of the lucky ones, I learned the answer to that very early on in life.
My mum got married when she was eighteen years old which was underage in those days. She had to have permission from my grandfather who was unwilling to give it since my Dad's family were so poor. Not that he was rich, but they always had good food and good shoes, which for him were the two most important things you could possess. My Dad was nineteen, tall, broad shouldered, thick black hair and a charming smile.From the moment he set eyes on my Mum, he was totally smitten. He was underage too, he was already a soldier and so ,I imagine they thought that if he were old enough to fight for his country, he was surely old enough to marry.
They got married in a little church in the presence of two witnesses on Christmas Day,1940, the best man was Dusty Miller, Dad's comrade in arms. My grandfather had signed the papers, however, he had vehemently disagreed with her choice and would not attend. This was hard for my Mum as she adored her father. Her mother had passed away when my Mum was only 14 and she only had a step-mother whom she was not close to. My aunt, Mum's sister baked a chocolate cake with all the rations and lent her a fox fur to wear with her blue suit. Then Dad was shipped overseas to Egypt for two years, it was the first time he had ever seen the sea. Dad was always proud of the fact that he had never had to kill anyone during the war, I don't think he would have survived such a scenario, but we will never know now.Years later, my grandfather apologised to my Dad for his disapproval and they became great friends with lasting, mutual respect between them.
While Dad was away, my sister was born, the first of four children, she was actually two when she first met my Dad and hid behind Mum's skirts.That didn't last, before long she was the apple of his eye and he of hers. She was followed by my two brothers and then I came along. Because my Mum was 38 and Dad 39 when I was born, my sister hardly spoke to Dad during the pregnancy, she was angry with him, she was used to being the only sister with two brothers and she thought it was despicable of Dad to put Mum in such a position at that age, my sister was almost 17 when I was born. Of course everything changed the moment she saw me, she always says it was love at first sight. She took me everywhere and strangers naturally assumed I was hers because of the great age gap, and naturally she did nothing to correct their misconceptions.
We were a close, happy family, easy with each other and in each other's company.There was always a lot of laughter, music and love in our home. Our friends were made welcome and loved coming in and out as though they were family too.No one was ever turned away from our door.
Christmas in our home was the most anticipated time of the year. The house would be filled with the mouth-watering aroma of baking some weeks before. The whole family would congregate at our home, aunts, uncles, cousins as well as close friends. The atmosphere in our home was always one of welcome and comfort. Noone was ever made to feel out of place. Some of my happiest memories are of these times.
Then came some dark years, my Mum suffered with many debilitating health issues. Chronic asthma, I was only 2 when I placed the oxygen mask on her face for the first time.I have a vague recollection of sitting next to her on the bed which had been taken downstairs since she couldn't climb them where she would recite poems and stories by heart. Sometimes, my older brother and cousins would join us. She loved children and they loved her. When I gave birth to my daughter, she was there. She held my daughter just two minutes after she was born and the bond was sealed. My Mum cried so much that the nurse asked if it were her first grandchild to which she replied, ''No, the seventh, but it is my youngest daughter's first''. Love overflowed from her. My daughter adored her Nan, when she lost her,she told me she had lost her other mother. That made me proud that I had been privileged to have such a mother myself.
Later,she also developed detached retinas due to a terrible accident which had happened when she was working in a factory during the war. She had been operating a lathe which had not been set properly, the arm swung out and cut her face open from just beneath her eye down to her chin. She was only 17 years old, she bought a hat to cover the huge brown iodine painted gash disfiguring her lovely face. My Dad was not put off by her scar and eventually over the years it faded to a thin line, but the tremendous blow had already done the damage to her eyes, which was not to surface until many years later.
My Dad worked hard for our family, long gruelling hours in a foundry. I recall how, as a child, I used to wait on the garden gate for him to turn the corner at the bottom of our sloping street. I would run down to him with the dog and he would put me on his bike and push me up the hill, he must have been bone-weary, though he never showed it. When he was eventually made redundant from his job, they moved to Wales near my sister as he had found work there. These were very happy years for all of us, Dad loved it there and so did Mum.They began to travel abroad, they saw most of Europe, but my Mum fell in love with Italy. Dad was a homebody.He could never refuse my Mum anything, but he had started to enjoy their trips and they'd planned to travel more after his retirement.
Then suddenly, when my Mum was 59, she was back in hospital for another operation on her retinas. Over the years, she had been through 14 of these and for all of them, she had been awake.She was not able to have general anaesthetic due to her asthma as it sent her into shock. This time she was very ill, I had never see my Dad depressed before, he was always singing and dancing, always hugging us and telling us he loved us. Now he was like a broken man, a shadow of himself. It scared me. This was when I truly realised how much he loved my Mum. She was such a part of him, they were like one soul living in two bodies, he could never have survived without her. It transpired that he never had to.
That Christmas, the hospital allowed my Mum to go home on the condition that she didn't move, do any housework or lift anything at all. We spent it at my sister's and she and I took care of everything. It was one of the nicest Christmasses we had ever had, despite Mum's health. It was a special year, my parents were going to celebrate their ruby wedding anniversary, 40 years. We had planned it all, a bouquet, a cake ,champagne and my two brothers were going to join us for the celebration which we had put off until New Year's Eve. We wanted to give them the wedding day they had not had back in 1940.
That celebration never happened.
My Dad passed away on New Year's Eve, he was just 60 and my Mum ,59. Too young. We weren't ready to lose him. The long, arduous hours of back-breaking work in extreme temperatures had taken their toll. A stroke had hit him on the 26th of December, he lasted a few days and broken-hearted, we all said farewell.Their anniversary cake and food was donated to the hospital and shared out amongst the patients and nurses. It was a small cottage hospital, so there was plenty to go around. We couldn't face it ourselves, it would have turned to ash in our mouths.
Following my Dad's passing, my Mum had cancer three times until it eventually claimed her at the age of 83. She faced it like she had faced everything before, stalwart and with a rock-solid faith. She never complained and was the strongest person I have ever known.They are buried together in a beautiful place overlooking the sea with the wild, Welsh mountains behind them, a spot most fitting for two beautiful souls.
My parents left us a legacy which money could never buy, because of it the relationship between my siblings and I has always been special. Sadly, we lost our older brother last summer, it was a devastating blow for us all. My parents' legacy continues from us to our children and onto their children and it will continue for eternity. The legacy of love.
For in the end ,what really matters is the love.
What really matters?
I was one of the lucky ones, I learned the answer to that very early on in life.
My mum got married when she was eighteen years old which was underage in those days. She had to have permission from my grandfather who was unwilling to give it since my Dad's family were so poor. Not that he was rich, but they always had good food and good shoes, which for him were the two most important things you could possess. My Dad was nineteen, tall, broad shouldered, thick black hair and a charming smile.From the moment he set eyes on my Mum, he was totally smitten. He was underage too, he was already a soldier and so ,I imagine they thought that if he were old enough to fight for his country, he was surely old enough to marry.
They got married in a little church in the presence of two witnesses on Christmas Day,1940, the best man was Dusty Miller, Dad's comrade in arms. My grandfather had signed the papers, however, he had vehemently disagreed with her choice and would not attend. This was hard for my Mum as she adored her father. Her mother had passed away when my Mum was only 14 and she only had a step-mother whom she was not close to. My aunt, Mum's sister baked a chocolate cake with all the rations and lent her a fox fur to wear with her blue suit. Then Dad was shipped overseas to Egypt for two years, it was the first time he had ever seen the sea. Dad was always proud of the fact that he had never had to kill anyone during the war, I don't think he would have survived such a scenario, but we will never know now.Years later, my grandfather apologised to my Dad for his disapproval and they became great friends with lasting, mutual respect between them.
While Dad was away, my sister was born, the first of four children, she was actually two when she first met my Dad and hid behind Mum's skirts.That didn't last, before long she was the apple of his eye and he of hers. She was followed by my two brothers and then I came along. Because my Mum was 38 and Dad 39 when I was born, my sister hardly spoke to Dad during the pregnancy, she was angry with him, she was used to being the only sister with two brothers and she thought it was despicable of Dad to put Mum in such a position at that age, my sister was almost 17 when I was born. Of course everything changed the moment she saw me, she always says it was love at first sight. She took me everywhere and strangers naturally assumed I was hers because of the great age gap, and naturally she did nothing to correct their misconceptions.
We were a close, happy family, easy with each other and in each other's company.There was always a lot of laughter, music and love in our home. Our friends were made welcome and loved coming in and out as though they were family too.No one was ever turned away from our door.
Christmas in our home was the most anticipated time of the year. The house would be filled with the mouth-watering aroma of baking some weeks before. The whole family would congregate at our home, aunts, uncles, cousins as well as close friends. The atmosphere in our home was always one of welcome and comfort. Noone was ever made to feel out of place. Some of my happiest memories are of these times.
Then came some dark years, my Mum suffered with many debilitating health issues. Chronic asthma, I was only 2 when I placed the oxygen mask on her face for the first time.I have a vague recollection of sitting next to her on the bed which had been taken downstairs since she couldn't climb them where she would recite poems and stories by heart. Sometimes, my older brother and cousins would join us. She loved children and they loved her. When I gave birth to my daughter, she was there. She held my daughter just two minutes after she was born and the bond was sealed. My Mum cried so much that the nurse asked if it were her first grandchild to which she replied, ''No, the seventh, but it is my youngest daughter's first''. Love overflowed from her. My daughter adored her Nan, when she lost her,she told me she had lost her other mother. That made me proud that I had been privileged to have such a mother myself.
Later,she also developed detached retinas due to a terrible accident which had happened when she was working in a factory during the war. She had been operating a lathe which had not been set properly, the arm swung out and cut her face open from just beneath her eye down to her chin. She was only 17 years old, she bought a hat to cover the huge brown iodine painted gash disfiguring her lovely face. My Dad was not put off by her scar and eventually over the years it faded to a thin line, but the tremendous blow had already done the damage to her eyes, which was not to surface until many years later.
My Dad worked hard for our family, long gruelling hours in a foundry. I recall how, as a child, I used to wait on the garden gate for him to turn the corner at the bottom of our sloping street. I would run down to him with the dog and he would put me on his bike and push me up the hill, he must have been bone-weary, though he never showed it. When he was eventually made redundant from his job, they moved to Wales near my sister as he had found work there. These were very happy years for all of us, Dad loved it there and so did Mum.They began to travel abroad, they saw most of Europe, but my Mum fell in love with Italy. Dad was a homebody.He could never refuse my Mum anything, but he had started to enjoy their trips and they'd planned to travel more after his retirement.
Then suddenly, when my Mum was 59, she was back in hospital for another operation on her retinas. Over the years, she had been through 14 of these and for all of them, she had been awake.She was not able to have general anaesthetic due to her asthma as it sent her into shock. This time she was very ill, I had never see my Dad depressed before, he was always singing and dancing, always hugging us and telling us he loved us. Now he was like a broken man, a shadow of himself. It scared me. This was when I truly realised how much he loved my Mum. She was such a part of him, they were like one soul living in two bodies, he could never have survived without her. It transpired that he never had to.
That Christmas, the hospital allowed my Mum to go home on the condition that she didn't move, do any housework or lift anything at all. We spent it at my sister's and she and I took care of everything. It was one of the nicest Christmasses we had ever had, despite Mum's health. It was a special year, my parents were going to celebrate their ruby wedding anniversary, 40 years. We had planned it all, a bouquet, a cake ,champagne and my two brothers were going to join us for the celebration which we had put off until New Year's Eve. We wanted to give them the wedding day they had not had back in 1940.
That celebration never happened.
My Dad passed away on New Year's Eve, he was just 60 and my Mum ,59. Too young. We weren't ready to lose him. The long, arduous hours of back-breaking work in extreme temperatures had taken their toll. A stroke had hit him on the 26th of December, he lasted a few days and broken-hearted, we all said farewell.Their anniversary cake and food was donated to the hospital and shared out amongst the patients and nurses. It was a small cottage hospital, so there was plenty to go around. We couldn't face it ourselves, it would have turned to ash in our mouths.
Following my Dad's passing, my Mum had cancer three times until it eventually claimed her at the age of 83. She faced it like she had faced everything before, stalwart and with a rock-solid faith. She never complained and was the strongest person I have ever known.They are buried together in a beautiful place overlooking the sea with the wild, Welsh mountains behind them, a spot most fitting for two beautiful souls.
My parents left us a legacy which money could never buy, because of it the relationship between my siblings and I has always been special. Sadly, we lost our older brother last summer, it was a devastating blow for us all. My parents' legacy continues from us to our children and onto their children and it will continue for eternity. The legacy of love.
For in the end ,what really matters is the love.