Saturday 13thJuly

Who would have thought it, my mother who I have known all my life (hahaha) is eighty today. Which of course means that I am sixty-two, and though I look quite like her, is a frightening prospect as she now looks so old, and I still consider myself young.

My parents both retired early, my Dad at fifty-three, though he did work part-time until he was sixty, the same age as my mother stopped working.  They were both lucky and have received excellent final salary pansions which gives them a generous income, part of which they still save.  For a few years they still seemed quite young in their retirement and thought they are keen caravan-ers they have undoubtedly slowed incredibly in the last five or so years.

They have now decided to become ‘old people’ and complain about ailments and keep saying they are getting old every time you see them.   They are almost childlike now too, in that they are quite happy to be led by my sister and I.  They are actually far nicer people too; my mother was an absolute tyrant while I was growing up, and my father was very distant and hardly spoke to me.  Now he seems genuinely pleased whenever I ring up, and my Mum is suddenly an understanding and forgiving kind old lady.

I can remember hating my mother as a child, rebelling at every turn, fighting her in my silent disobedient way (I never dared answer her back) and being the recipient of her temper.  I think I was a great disappointment to her; I was certainly not the child she wanted me to be.  And as I grew up and failed relationships and children with different mothers piled up that disappointment only grew.  There was a gulf between us that has taken years to bridge.  Too much lost time, but in a strange way the fact that I had to do almost all of it on my own, without much help from my parents at all has made me a stronger person.  And importantly my mother’s equal at long last.

Anyway, at last we are friends, so Happy Birthday Mum.  You are eighty today.