Happy Birthday Mum

You were weather-worn, with a lined face, work-tough hands and always the same short black haircut. Unassuming. Reserved. Yes, sometimes even with a look about you like the world had you beat.

I didn't understand. I was just a child. I thought marriages lasted forever, even beyond the fighting. But you stayed. He stayed. There was a constant in our lives and as little as we appreciated it at the time, it was you.

I left home at almost-eighteen, still wet around the ears about men and what it took to keep a relationship working well. I have choked on that score - many a time - over the years. And then when the children came, a whole new depth of understanding finally came up and smacked me in the middle of the forehead.

I get it now Mum. I didn't get a chance to tell you, but I get it. I understand now, in a way that starts deep in my bones and radiates outward to the small person's hand clutched in mine, why you did the things you did, endured the things you endured. Why you kept your mouth tightly shut when all you must have wanted to do was scream at the injustice. Why you reached for tools when working became necessary. Why you always, always served yourself last, both at the dinner table and in every other aspect of your life.

I understand.

I just wish you were still around to tell you.