Pink Lemonade & 14 Years

Inspired by Carolyn Misterek. Painted by me.

It was 14 years ago today. Early morning, a day like this. Where spring whispers hopefully through the air, unseasonably mild, where the sun tickles your back, but yet winter threatens in the shade, or with a galling breeze that whips your neck.

I don’t remember eating that day. Coming down wrapped in a fluffy white dressing gown, excited. Who is visiting this early? Has there been some drama? Not knowing, or maybe I did, the news would be that she’s gone. 

But my mum, vibrant yet darkened. A woman with so much sun but who threatened shade with every cloud that passed her eyes. She wouldn’t want to be remembered by that morning. 

She’d want to be remembered by the last time I saw her. It was Mother’s Day, 14 years ago and the last time Mother’s Day fell on a Sunday in April. 2011.

The feverish infectious buzz was all around, it was the first sunny weekend of spring, and the Easter holidays stretched ahead with the promise of lazy days under the nagging of looming revision. Freshly burst flowers in the garden, brand-new lambs grazing in the field across from her cottage. A British Idyll, at least in my recollections.

We spent the Sunday afternoon having a picnic in the back-garden of her cottage. I’d made her iced biscuits, delicately crafted to resemble little lambs with frothy coats or small chicks with buttery yellow feathers. How could a day so peaceful, and it was peaceful, the first time I felt real peace in her company in months, become so important. But my mum was very good at that, crafting and creating environments with every flash of her eyes, warm inviting smile or tight grasp of your hand. If she wanted a peaceful day, peace would reign. 

We’d been to the shops, got ‘picky bits’ at no expense. ‘Grab what you want!’ Music to a 16 year olds ears! I was allowed to have pink lemonade, in a glass bottle. I’d never had it before, ‘posh lemonade’, with the pith clouding the base, dyed a heady girlish pink, it felt like the perfect drink to enjoy that day. Carefree, a bit silly, something new and a reason for her not to drink. ‘But we need to have the new pink lemonade!’ 

And she didn’t. Sober, peaceful, engaged with me. Thank god for that pink lemonade. Without it, I wouldn’t have had that last perfect day. Where spring and all its promise filled both our hearts with hope. It’s getting better, she’s doing so well, I can’t wait to visit my mum again.