3 is the magic number. Or is it?


And now, we are three. And so, to an extent, dear Mothership are you. A third anniversary of sorts. Three years since you left us(ish). “ish” because it feels most days like you’re still there. Making stuff happen, keeping fate on my side, doing your best to ensure that every one of my good turns generally deserves another. But now, as an immediate family of three, it’s never been more difficult not having you there.

It always comes back to the gravy. We totally won at Christmas, you may well have seen from up there. AP, Sis, Baby Ffion and I. We did it. Pulled together an epic lunch, juggling a three and a bit month old between us. We had such a genuinely wonderful time. But the gravy. We bought the gravy.

It was posh stuff and perfectly edible but just nothing like yours. You know, if I had the chance to ask you just one question again it would be about that blasted gravy! But I don’t even know if you can still get Burdall’s block or where the heck that saucepan is that you just had to make it in each Sunday so perhaps it would prove a wasted education.

Beyond the gravy I have so desperately needed you to help me wade through a series of “what the actual hell?” moments that have presented themselves since August of last year. Unimaginable. Like Brookside on acid but no one’s under the patio – thankfully! Then along comes a baby and everything becomes “what the actual, actual hell?” as you drown in hormonal tidal waves, sleepless nights and rather desperate cluelessness!

You were always one of life’s incredible observers. A silent guide. Somehow we, your daughters, found our way and how you helped make that happen, I’ll never know. You led by the most incredible example yet got on my nerves 99.9% of the time. But oh what I’d give to see you turn the fork the ‘right’ way round in the dishwasher just one more time.

Recent changes, twists in the plot, have been both incredible and unimaginable but we work so hard to continue to live your legacy. I mean, I do so much for you… Like tonight, I will ignore what’s written on the day 6 page of the post Christmas detox I’ve subscribed to, to drink champagne. Just for you. And I’m having a night away. My first in four months. Because you loved sleep, it is only right that this night of champagne and celebration of your life is followed by 8 hours (or more, imagine more?) in Sis’s spare room without that somewhat nocturnal small person beside me.

So many continue to stand beside us, don’t you ever worry about that. We are loved, supported by the oldest and newest of friends. You leave a lasting impression even on those that you never met.

If only this got easier.