February 22 is never a good day for me – it’s the anniversary of my mum’s death, and I ignore it at my peril.
Better to acknowledge it than have things go wrong all day as the subconscious wreaks havoc.
My mother’s was a life of anguish, but before her death – succumbing to cancer at 67 – she treasured her husband and her daughters, calling us “my two lovely girls”.
As the rebel child, I was glad to have the chance to reconcile with her during the six months or so when we knew she was dying. I reverted to a devotion I had missed in the intervening years, and was at her side every moment I could wrest from my working life.
Kate Mary Lynch: Mother and Child Series: 'You may not live up to her dreams, which even a king cannot always do'. Photo credit St George's Hospital
Now a mother myself, I’m not sure I want to have such power over my children that whatever date I die on becomes etched into their psyche. I certainly hope they can celebrate rather than mourn.
RIP Joan Gwendolyn Hall 1920 – 1987
For more tales of Joan and her exploits, read on here:
The photo and the painting are both wonderful!
By coincidence February 22 was my mother-in-law’s birthday. Born in 1922, she would have been one hundred on 22.02.2022, and might have enjoyed the numeric palindrome–though she would never have confessed to being that age. I do not remember the date of my mother’s death, 12 years ago, although I always remember her birthday. On the other hand I always remember the date of my father’s death, and mourn him, perhaps because I was only eleven at the time.
I’m sorry you lost your father at such a young age, Lyn. That must have been tough. Joan lost her father when she was 19, just at the start of the war, and I know it was a great blow to her.
Like your mother-in-law, my dad was born in 1922.