I’ve been rattling off about birthdays quite a lot recently, yet this week has marked one that it would be abhorrent not to mention.

This Thursday would have been my mother’s 70th birthday.

The bravest woman that I ever knew, she died in 2021 at the age of 66 after a battle with lung cancer.

Hard-faced, warm-hearted, and wickedly funny, she left a hole that I imagined impossible to fill –  until, of course, her granddaughter came along. 

Warm-hearted, wickedly funny, and, for a two-year-old, already pretty hard-faced, she has replaced her grandmother as the female force of war in my life, and has happily made sure that I’ve never had too much chance to miss her.  

Already I see so much of her strength in her, and have never been able to shake the feeling that, from either upstairs or down (my mother could definitely have gone either way), she is watching her, guiding her and teaching her exactly how to keep me on my toes.

One thing is for certain, my mother will never be gone........

© Shropshire Star