It's been ten years since Mum died. That's difficult to comprehend. I needed to check just now regarding the exact date and was genuinely surprised at the length of time involved.
When I was younger I assumed that memories faded, turning a sort of nostalgic sepia, as in the movies. Now I know they don't. If anything they grow sharper as if the background of endless loss makes them more definite. And, strangely, they always involve happiness. The fact that Mum could be extremely irritating at times is not something I'd deny, but it just doesn't seem worth thinking about; so I don't.
I suppose the same will be true of memories of John. He could drive me crazy at times, and he certainly managed to do that with Mum, but in the final analysis it will be his helpfulness and wry good humour I'll remember, I'm sure. Funnily enough, when we used to talk about him that's what Mum invariably referenced once she'd got the complaints out of the way.
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