Rose

Dear Olive,


I'm feeling rather melancholic today, and the weather has obliged my mood, presenting us with a dreary, drizzly day. Perhaps today is a good day to tell you a bit about why your middle name is Rose. Rose is my Mums name and she was, hands down, The Best Mum. I was so lucky to have her. She was loving, supportive, intelligent, crazy, interesting, totally hilarious, a feminist. She was one of the quickest walkers I've ever known and she had the most amazing ability to laugh at herself (which was pretty lucky as she did a lot of silly things. My family will fondly remember how she used to muddle up the on-off record button up on the video camera every time she used it. Inadvertently failing to capture all our big events but recording a lot of the ground and muffled conversations about nothing when she thought the camera was off.) But the sadness I carry with me, is that we lost her. To cancer. Seven years ago. As I write it down, seven years looks like a long time, but it's not for something like this. Life has gone on even though she's not here, and my family slowly, slowly learnt to exist despite the big hole Mum left in our lives and hearts. After a while, that hole even started to close a little, and somehow the pain wasn't quite so sharp anymore. But since I had you, this has changed. The hole, that had gotten a little bit smaller, got bigger again. And started hurting. It hurts because my Mum will never get to meet you, have the pleasure of seeing you smile and won't ever get to simply wonder in the sheer amazement of you. She would have loved you so much. And I know she would be proud of me. A midwife told me when you were born that the way we hold our children is learned from the way our parents held us. So, perhaps there is a little bit of my Mums love being passed on to you through my arms. I like the idea of that.