Remembering my Mother (whom my brothers and I called "Mum") is a very bittersweet pastime. While life at that time was idyllic at times, or at least those are the memories that come to the forefront, it was never what I wanted it to be or what I saw in other people's homes. I can't help wishing, as I have ever since she died, that it had been my father who died and my Mum who had lived. Yes, yes, I know, we can't know what might have been but it certainly couldn't have been worse so at least it would have been different.
I don't know my nephews and nieces and it's been more than twenty years since I've seen my sister-in-law with her children so I have no idea what kind of mother she is or has been but, despite her fanatic religious bigotry (the reason why I don't know my nephews and nieces), I sincerely hope she was as good, fun and loving as was mine.
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