Posted 9:02 AM by Paul
So Now I am a Grown Up

Various people said the same thing about losing your last parent. As well as the grief and the longing, there is the feeling that you are now the older generation. Suddenly I feel about 77 not 47.

My daughter Emily had a minor accident yesterday evening when she bumped her head falling off the swing in the back garden. She was dizzy and nauseous, and of course you start to fear the worse, a blood clot on the brain. Heather took her to hospital whilst I looked after Alice. I kept moving towards the phone to ring mum. I wanted her counsel. I wanted her to say, "don't worry love. She'll be OK". I wanted to share the day with her. But I couldn't. She was dead. I now had to get wiht life without any support from the older generation. I'll get used to it.

Emily was OK and is now tearing around the house full of life.

Mum's funeral was held on a beautiful late summer day on the outskirts of my home town of Sheffield. We were on the fringes of the countryside. The late flowers were in bloom the trees were just starting to turn gold. Around 50 people came including some of her old friends and her older sister May who is 85.

"Who is that lovely little girl with the curly hair? She looks exactly like our Evelyn. [ my mum]" asked Aunt May.

It was Emily.

"Well your mother will never die for you then." she smiled.

We sang the Victoria hymn "All things Bright and Beautiful", the Minister read from Romans and then to my pride and surprise read out most of a eulogy I had written. I thought he was just going to use a few lines. These are the words.

A Short and Inadequate Tribute to Evelyn Bower

Lucy summed it up perfectly on the day Mum died.

"Well, everybody loved grandma."

She had what the Spanish call Alegria, which means a sense of joy. I remember a friend describing Langdon Street as, the happy house. It was a very happy place despite the fact that those walls had seen their fair share of tragedy.

Mum's life was certainly a hard one to begin with. Born poor on the back streets of Milton Lane, she started cleaning pubs when she was 12 and didn't stop working until she was 59. She was desolated when her adored older brother Harry was killed in action in the Western Desert. He hadn't been married for long and was nearly too old to be called up. She always kept him in her thoughts to the end of her days.

Mum married her beloved Jack after a short war time courtship. She confided in me that she had stood him up on her first date to the pictures and even teased him about it on the following Monday morning at work. But he persevered, and asked for another meeting. On the second date she walked past him at first because she did not recognise the elegant man in a Barney Goodman suit and trilby hat, waiting for her in front of Atkinsons. He certainly was a snappy dresser.

Their lives were blighted from the start by dad's ill health, but they were also blessed with four children. She worshipped John and Dianne. Years later she told me that her favourite sound was John's motorbike coming back into Langdon Street. Her first born, an electrician with a trade and qualifications was home - safe and sound. Her face always lit up when he entered the room.
She was always so proud of Dianne. I remember when she passed her driving test first time - aged 17 I think. This was unheard of. Nobody I knew could actually drive a car. As the years passed, their love strengthened and matured, particularly as they shared holidays and even bought a little boat, The Pedigree, together. Mum loved that, packing a pic nic and sailing off down the canals and rivers near Bawtry. Their friendship was a beautiful thing to behold. Mum never imagined that life could be as good as it became with Dianne. When they returned from a Caribbean Cruise, which included a visit to Disneyland she simply said,

"Paul. It were like a dream."

The little girl from Milton Lane had certainly come along way, supported by her only daughter.

Mum worked so hard to give us happy times, particularly at Christmas when there was always lovely presents for the kids and great family parties, either at our house or Aunty May's and Uncle Len's. It was only as I got older that I realised that mum worked overtime on Saturday mornings to clear the debts she had incurred to make sure that we were entertained as well as properly clothed and well fed. She really was a Trojan.

Fate nearly struck her the cruellest blow. When Dad was going into his final illness ( he was in hospital every Winter) David was nearly taken from us aged 16 by chronic encephalitis. I can see her now crying out loud that she was going to lose her little boy. Dad was in despair and told me that he prayed that God would give David's illness to him.

"But he will pull through, won't he Dad?", I pleaded.

David not only pulled through, but went on to become the first of the family to go to university and graduated with a degree in electronics. She was so proud of him and wouldn't have exchanged his shoulder length cork-screw curls for the world. She had sat for long hours holding his hand looking at his shaved head and the deep scars caused by an exploratory operation when the doctors thought he had a malignant brain tumour. In the last two years, thanks to David's skill in negotiating early retirement, they spent many happy days together on trips to Derbyshire or at her flat while David played the guitar and sang to her..

Dad's death on March 4th 1968 was an awful blow but gradually we all learned to smile again. Given the unrelenting toughness of her early life, not surprising Mum didn't have a lot of time for people who kept banging on about "the good old days". For Mum, the Present was a great improvement on the Past.

" I just wish Jack could have lived a little but longer to share in all of this", she often said to me.

But it wasn't to be. Mum even suspected that Dad held on until he was certain that we were all OK. David was given the all clear at the hospital on the day Dad died.

My main memory of our life together is one of fun and laughter. It was the greatest joy to just hold her hand. Of course there were occasional sharp words and disagreements but they were quickly forgotten.

Mum liked visitors but equally people loved to visit her. Scores of my friends popped round and never failed to comment on how much they thought of her. It was even a place where love blossomed. Mark and Viv met each other at a Langdon Street party in 1986 and have been together ever since. It was quite a night involving a band with a full drum kit set up in our small front room. "What does your mum think of all this?" enquired a friend. " Think of it?", I replied, "she suggested it!"

Quite simply, she was a great person to be with. She made you feel good about the world even when things were looking bleak. Whenever I felt sorry for myself, I tried to step back and remember how hard mum's life had been, and how she had born it all with good grace and above all a sense of humour. I am sure that is how she would like us all to react to her passing, with laughter and devotion to her grand children and great grand children. I can hear her now as I write this inadequate tribute,

" Come on Paul, dry your eyes love. You get back to work and look after them kids. They're lovely girls."

And we won't let her down. Her memorial is not in marble but in the lives of her family and in the love and solidarity that we all share.

Mum was devoted to her family and put us before everything, but there was more to her than that. She worked hard, but she was not defined by her work. She was a vibrant beautiful woman, not a workhorse. We were most of her life but not all of it, and that is why her passing is being felt by friends across the globe. Rita's sad expression at the Hallamshire Hospital in December 1999 when we thought we were going to lose her, said it all. We just didn't want to let her go.

Thankfully, due to the dedication of doctors and nurses and mum's huge strength, she obliged us with nearly four more great years. The lovely holiday in Benidorm in 2000 and the joyous 80th birthday weekend for all the family in 2002 [ both occasions organised to perfection by Dianne ] will live in my memory forever. Mum and Rita also got to spend more time together and share the odd chocolate éclair. We will all miss her so much.

She died in the light, on beautiful sunny September day surrounded by all four of her kids and her devoted grandson Andy. The Good don't always get what they deserve, but at least Mum passed away surrounded by love and respect.

As for me, all I want to say is that I loved her and she loved me. She gave me life, gave me strength and made me happy. She still does.

So if I were to say one last thing to her, I would have to go back into Spanish and say.

" Olé! Mum Olé."

Which as we all know means - Well Done.

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So now all there is to do is scatter her ashes and carry on with a smile.

I got lucky, really lucky. I had a mother who was an inspiration and who lived long enough for me to fully appreciate her and show her the respect and love she deserved. I lost my dad young and my mum old. I am glad it was that way around