Forgetful but never forgetting

Today in 1968 my mum and dad got married in County Cavan, Ireland. A rakish Scottish boy who had pretensions to look like Buddy Holly and an Irish clergyman’s daughter tied the knot with many top notch churchman, including the bishop, involved in the nuptials. Dad had organised a ‘poor-oot’ which the local kids didn’t get in the least. Mum’s slightly crazy actress aunt took herself off during the reception to dress up as a tramp and came back in and bothered mainly the Scottish guests for money. The Grand National meant that under the table betting was high on the agenda.

Over the years, against the norm, mum was always the one to forget anniversaries. So when my sisters and I spoke on Sunday to wonder what to do about mum and dad’s first wedding anniversary without him here we thought the best thing would be to remind her she’d forgotten again and make her smile through the tears.
We sent flowers. We said in the card we didn’t want the day to pass without marking the occasion and that dad wouldn’t want the day to pass without us reminding her that once again she had forgotten. We wanted to make her laugh but also know that he was still here.
So here’s the thing. Mum never remembered anniversaries but she adored dad and adored everyday with him. She didn’t need to mark a day in the calendar to make that clear. None of us do. It’s nice to put a date in the calendar to remind us to be grateful for what we have. But truly we should probably try every day to say our thanks for the love we have in our lives. Our flowers and our card made mum sad but they also made her laugh at herself. She never remembered their anniversary but she will never forget how much their love meant to each other. Love was their everything. That’s something you don’t need to say only one day of the year. Happy anniversary mum and dad. Love you both.

Sent from my iPhone