4th December A Poignant Day

4th December 2006 my mother passed away.

I had a troubled relationship with my mother and unfortunately by the time I came to my senses she was staring death in the face. I was able to make amends to my mother before she passed away. This was essentially to express my regret for not making the most of the educational opportunity she battled for on my behalf.

Poor old mum. I must have been such a huge disappointment to her and in effect I spent much of my adult life isolated in London, a long way from home.

A remarkable woman who bristled with energy, vitality,mischief and defiance. Widowed at the age of 49 when my father died suddenly in 1977. I can only say my mother's marriage must have been miserable as my father was an obstreperous, aggressive, enuretic drunk who brought whisky fuelled carnage to the house every weekend without fail. Drink must have been the underlying reason for his sudden death. She tried hard to make it appear as if she was happily married but the marital home was very angry, volatile and explosive.

My mother was a primary school teacher and by retirement had made it to head teacher. She loved teaching and she loved children. I have fond memories of going to church with her and as she got nearer she would be waving at kids and their parents, knowing everyone's name, describing kids as "wee scunner" or a "right wee poltice, just like his mother". She belonged to a generation of formidable women teachers who quite literally battered the rudiments of education, the "three Rs" of reading, writing and arithmetic, into kids who would otherwise have been forgotten. Of course there was a fourth R, this one for religion.My mother was a devout Catholic and she taught in Catholic schools and so she and her ilk battered the catechism into the kids as well!

She loved her cigarettes and whisky. Sadly the drink did for her in later life and tragically she died of lung cancer. At the end I found it shocking that my mother's sole concern about her care was determined by whether she could smoke.It was as a result of visiting her in the final year of her life and listening to her machine gun rattle of a cough, and seeing the palpable pain she was in, that triggered my latest and most successful attempt at quitting smoking.

In her earlier years my mother was the life and soul of the party and many of my peers had their first experience of intoxication at her behest, usually at house parties. I remember one neighbour being so pissed he had to be carried home and my mother organised the bearers.

She worked hard and she started the day cooking and ended the day making a dress after cooking an evening meal. In between she taught.Tireless energy.Much suffering quietly endured for a greater glory. I don't think my father was in a fit state to offer much practical assistance in the house.

I never really knew my mother's father but I heard she had a difficult relationship with him. He too was reputed to be a drunk with a controversial existence who left his ailing wife in favour of a mistress. Scandalous in post war Catholic Glasgow.

My poor mother, the men who should have been most important to her were terrible failures. The son, your writer, another bum.

So today I pray for my mother's soul. I pray that she has found eternal peace and that she is reunited with my father in heaven in perfect bliss and happiness. At her funeral I said I would try to do for her memory what I was unable to do for her in her life. I would have liked her to meet my wife, Luna; I would like her to know that I was on the verge of being a dad. Alas these things were not to be.