Jean Weedon, 22 January 1929 - 05 November 1996
It will be obvious by now why I don't really celebrate Guy Fawkes' night. No fireworks at my place. Just a quiet night in by myself.
It seems unbelievable that nine years have passed since my mum passed away. I know for a fact I still haven't got over it - the fact that she still appears regularly and vividly in my dreams is testament to that. I suppose at 28 I wasn't ready for it. I guess you never are, really.
So anyway, let me tell you a few things about this wonderful lady. She led an entirely selfless existence. In fact she spent most of her life doing things for other people. She was a teacher most of her working life (at least in the time that I was alive), teaching a variety of subjects including R.E. and working with special needs children. In her last post, at the John of Gaunt School in Trowbridge, she became a head of year and was feared by many of the children at the school. Funny really.
You'd think that would be enough of a challenge for most people, but not my mum. She also brought up five kids, mostly on her own. Dad was working in other towns a lot of the time you see, and would often be home only at weekends. When I was in my first year at Comprehensive school he was away at University and we only saw him in the holidays. How Mum coped on her own I'll never know. And now there's me, barely able to look after myself.
Even in the summer, our holidays would usually be spent in her hometown of Batley in West Yorkshire, where we would look after her mother, my Nana, while Auntie Shirley and Uncle John were on holiday. It must be the fact that I am half Yorkshire that has given me my love of cricket and beer.
It's easy to say that someone was "too good for this world" but in some ways I don't think it's unfair to say that about my mum. She was meant for someplace else. Somewhere bad things don't happen. One of my most vivid memories of her was when I had just passed my driving test and was allowed to drive her Metro. We were in the car one day and I was driving. We passed my sister Amanda's ex-boyfriend's house and Tanya, Amanda's little girl, was outside playing. Ian (Amanda's ex) wasn't her real Dad but had she had come to regard him as such. Anyway, mum asked me what I thought she was doing there. I replied, nonchalantly, "Just visiting her Dad, I suppose". This set mum off crying. She couldn't stand the kind of sadness you see on a daily basis. Funny the things you remember.
67 is no age to die. (Christ, I want at least another 50 years, not 30). Not only that, but mum became very ill not longer after she retired and was pretty much housebound for most of her retirement. It seems shitty and unfair that someone like that, who spent all her life working and looking after other people, should not only die at a young age but also not get to enjoy her retirement properly. She should at least have been allowed that.
I guess that's why I have a relaxed attitude about certain things. That's why I go on holiday and not care about the expense, for example. I might not be able to do it when I'm older. And there’s no point having lots of money in the bank when you're dead.
I can still remember the day she died quite vividly. I hope I never have a day as bad as that ever again. The previous evening I was playing squash when I got a phone call telling me to phone home. The news was that mum had gone into hospital again. I think I knew then I was never going to see her alive again. When the phone rang early the next morning, I knew the news was going to be bad.
I remember going to see her for the last time in the chapel of rest. Needless to say I got very upset. But I don't think it sank in then, or at the cremation for that matter. I know when it hit me - in the days after when I went for dinner at my parent's cottage in Melksham for the first time since her death. I remember breaking down crying in the kitchen and Amanda (always the strong one) having to look after me.
Time now to pay tribute to some of the people who looked after me and kept me going in those dark days. My best friend, Graeme, and his ex-wife Mia (I never got on with her but to be fair to her she was good to me at that time) took me for a slap-up meal at the Running Horse (I call it the trotting donkey myself) with their kids, Carl and Anders who were infants at the time. The idea was just to try and cheer me up. It did, if only for a short while. Looking back, it was an incredibly kind and thoughtful thing to do. As I say, it’s funny what sticks in your memory.
I remember saying to Graeme a couple of years ago on a train back from a boozy day in London, it was a shame he never met her. Despite the amount of whisky entering his bloodstream, he told me that in a way, he felt he already knew her. He said I was a very kind and gentle man and he imagined mum would have been just the same. I'll always remember that.
Another thing about her was her remarkable courage and determination. Not long before she passed away, my sister Fiona got remarried to Richard. The service was held in the church at the end of our street. Mum was pretty much bedridden by then. There was no question of her attending the reception or party in the evening, but she was damned if she was going to miss the service. And so despite everything there she was, maintaining her dignity and enjoying the day, despite being in a wheelchair. Does it make you feel humble? It does me.
Her spirit lives on. Whilst today has not been a great day, tomorrow I'm doing something in her memory. Growing up I used to spend many weekends in a village near Melksham called Bradford on Avon, either going swimming at the leisure centre there with my sisters, having afternoon tea with mum and dad in the tearooms or walking by the canal. So it's kind of serendipitous that there should be a race there this weekend.
It's going to be hard - a 12km multi-terrain run. Quite unlike the ones I've done before. I have to run through a river at some point - should be interesting! It'll be fun though. I'm determined to enjoy the event, my beer afterwards and the day in general. I think she'd have liked that.
It seems unbelievable that nine years have passed since my mum passed away. I know for a fact I still haven't got over it - the fact that she still appears regularly and vividly in my dreams is testament to that. I suppose at 28 I wasn't ready for it. I guess you never are, really.
So anyway, let me tell you a few things about this wonderful lady. She led an entirely selfless existence. In fact she spent most of her life doing things for other people. She was a teacher most of her working life (at least in the time that I was alive), teaching a variety of subjects including R.E. and working with special needs children. In her last post, at the John of Gaunt School in Trowbridge, she became a head of year and was feared by many of the children at the school. Funny really.
You'd think that would be enough of a challenge for most people, but not my mum. She also brought up five kids, mostly on her own. Dad was working in other towns a lot of the time you see, and would often be home only at weekends. When I was in my first year at Comprehensive school he was away at University and we only saw him in the holidays. How Mum coped on her own I'll never know. And now there's me, barely able to look after myself.
Even in the summer, our holidays would usually be spent in her hometown of Batley in West Yorkshire, where we would look after her mother, my Nana, while Auntie Shirley and Uncle John were on holiday. It must be the fact that I am half Yorkshire that has given me my love of cricket and beer.
It's easy to say that someone was "too good for this world" but in some ways I don't think it's unfair to say that about my mum. She was meant for someplace else. Somewhere bad things don't happen. One of my most vivid memories of her was when I had just passed my driving test and was allowed to drive her Metro. We were in the car one day and I was driving. We passed my sister Amanda's ex-boyfriend's house and Tanya, Amanda's little girl, was outside playing. Ian (Amanda's ex) wasn't her real Dad but had she had come to regard him as such. Anyway, mum asked me what I thought she was doing there. I replied, nonchalantly, "Just visiting her Dad, I suppose". This set mum off crying. She couldn't stand the kind of sadness you see on a daily basis. Funny the things you remember.
67 is no age to die. (Christ, I want at least another 50 years, not 30). Not only that, but mum became very ill not longer after she retired and was pretty much housebound for most of her retirement. It seems shitty and unfair that someone like that, who spent all her life working and looking after other people, should not only die at a young age but also not get to enjoy her retirement properly. She should at least have been allowed that.
I guess that's why I have a relaxed attitude about certain things. That's why I go on holiday and not care about the expense, for example. I might not be able to do it when I'm older. And there’s no point having lots of money in the bank when you're dead.
I can still remember the day she died quite vividly. I hope I never have a day as bad as that ever again. The previous evening I was playing squash when I got a phone call telling me to phone home. The news was that mum had gone into hospital again. I think I knew then I was never going to see her alive again. When the phone rang early the next morning, I knew the news was going to be bad.
I remember going to see her for the last time in the chapel of rest. Needless to say I got very upset. But I don't think it sank in then, or at the cremation for that matter. I know when it hit me - in the days after when I went for dinner at my parent's cottage in Melksham for the first time since her death. I remember breaking down crying in the kitchen and Amanda (always the strong one) having to look after me.
Time now to pay tribute to some of the people who looked after me and kept me going in those dark days. My best friend, Graeme, and his ex-wife Mia (I never got on with her but to be fair to her she was good to me at that time) took me for a slap-up meal at the Running Horse (I call it the trotting donkey myself) with their kids, Carl and Anders who were infants at the time. The idea was just to try and cheer me up. It did, if only for a short while. Looking back, it was an incredibly kind and thoughtful thing to do. As I say, it’s funny what sticks in your memory.
I remember saying to Graeme a couple of years ago on a train back from a boozy day in London, it was a shame he never met her. Despite the amount of whisky entering his bloodstream, he told me that in a way, he felt he already knew her. He said I was a very kind and gentle man and he imagined mum would have been just the same. I'll always remember that.
Another thing about her was her remarkable courage and determination. Not long before she passed away, my sister Fiona got remarried to Richard. The service was held in the church at the end of our street. Mum was pretty much bedridden by then. There was no question of her attending the reception or party in the evening, but she was damned if she was going to miss the service. And so despite everything there she was, maintaining her dignity and enjoying the day, despite being in a wheelchair. Does it make you feel humble? It does me.
Her spirit lives on. Whilst today has not been a great day, tomorrow I'm doing something in her memory. Growing up I used to spend many weekends in a village near Melksham called Bradford on Avon, either going swimming at the leisure centre there with my sisters, having afternoon tea with mum and dad in the tearooms or walking by the canal. So it's kind of serendipitous that there should be a race there this weekend.
It's going to be hard - a 12km multi-terrain run. Quite unlike the ones I've done before. I have to run through a river at some point - should be interesting! It'll be fun though. I'm determined to enjoy the event, my beer afterwards and the day in general. I think she'd have liked that.
posted by Jon | 5:35 pm
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