Mum was never one for talking politics so even if circumstances were different, I doubt she’d have had much to say about the General Election when I visited her yesterday. I told her I was preparing to work through the night covering an election count but as with just about all our “conversation” these days, it appeared meaningless. I know I’ve said it before but I find it hard to sit with Mum and realise she and I have nothing to talk about. 50 years of shared history and nothing to talk about – so cruel.
So how did we pass the time yesterday? My increasing concerns about the future of social care if one particular party won overall control last night*? No. Memories of past elections with my father holding forth on the implications for the country of the result? Of course not.
No, we talked about a hat, and not the one a former eminent politician is now going to have to eat. There was a hat on the table which I took it upon myself to try on.
“Oh stop it. I don’t think it does anything for you,” she laughed, almost guffawed.
These days, Mum’s laughter is one of the sweetest sounds in my life and I played for it shamelessly yesterday. Whenever there was a silence, I put on the hat. Cue peals of laughter. It’s like playing with a baby. A baby who’ll never grow up.
*By the way, I’m increasingly concerned.