My mother died at the end of June. I have been spending a lot of my time caring for her and before that my father over the last three years. As she was 89 and had Alzheimer's we knew her death was coming, but nevertheless it was a shock. But the blessing was that the disease did not take from her the awareness of who we were, she was still our mum.
Mum was very important in fostering my writing, especially my poetry. She had wanted to study English at university and would have done so had not her father's death meant that she needed to earn money for her family. When it became clear that I was naturally talented in poetry, I was given poetry books. I still remember poems from Happenings, and Junior Voices. But perhaps more importantly Mum encouraged me to look and to imagine. We would go on long walks and she would point out flowers, trees, animals. "Look, Zoe. Do you see that tree root? What do you think it looks like?" When I replied that it looked like a witch or a dragon's claw, she would be delighted.
When I sat with her in the last few months, I sometimes read poetry to her and she loved it. Poetry has that power. Despite her Alzheimer's she beamed when I showed her a magazine with one of my poems in it and a spark appeared in her eyes.
With Mum gone, I have the freedom and time, and perhaps the emotional energy, to really pursue my poetry career. It is what she would have wanted. I am preparing a collection for submission to publishers. I have a publisher in mind already. In fact looking over the body of my work, I have enough for several books and I continue to add more poems, including one recently about her death.
Today would have been her 90th birthday. Happy Birthday, Mum.
