Well, I took some Christmas cards to write with Mum this week. As I noted in an earlier post, this exercise is probably more for me than her. I’d like to think this annual ritual still means something to Mum but I doubt it. I read the list of proposed recipients to Mum. She laughed as I did so and by the end of a short list, around 15 names, she was near helpless with mirth. Now, I love to hear Mum laugh but this I wasn’t expecting. And it stung.
I started to write. Mum lost interest. I checked what I’d written with her. The process continued. At one point, Mum started to read the names I’d written and then she began to tear open an envelope.
“No, Mum, that’s for Carole from you.”
She responded as if I’d told her off with the merest hint of a pout.
To try to make things better, I wrote her a card:
“Dear Mum. Wishing you a very Merry Christmas. Lots and lots of love……”
“There you are Mum. You can open that.”
“No, I think I’ll save it.”
Which she has done, I hope. Next Thursday it’s the Christmas party. Time to dig out santa’s beard.