Issue 6 2010 - TLS - Victoria University

Mum memory
By Barry Garner
I can’t believe it’s nearly three years since you passed away, but it is. I’d like to use a cliché like, ‘Not a
day goes by without...’, but there are days that pass without me thinking of you. Life and the business
of living have a habit of catching us out, dragging us along like a river with an undercurrent of
unstoppable time—days when we all just get caught up with trying to work out what to do next and
how we’ll find the time to do it. But in the midst of all that, there are moments when I think of you.
Times when I realise how much you are still part of my life, and that a huge part of my story is part of
yours.
I still have times when I forget you are gone. Sometimes, I’d love to give you a ring and just catch up
on what’s been going on. I used to love giving you a call. I didn’t even mind the fact that we’d almost
always have the same conversation. You would always reminisce and tell me stories of when me and
the boys were growing up in Carlton, stories beyond my memory—stories of a family in happy times,
innocent times.
Often you’d get confused and mix up just who did what, but it didn’t matter; I liked listening anyway.
You always wanted to talk about the days when Dad was still with us, but not mention the years that
followed. They were hard years for you after Dad died, times when the innocence of Carlton was
replaced by years of trying to forget. Years with your second husband who drank and was sometimes
violent. Years when you drank, I guess, to forget what you had lost.
I wish I could call you now and let you know we’re doing okay, to tell you all about your grandkids and
their kids, and of their innocent years. They are all doing well; living, planning and building a future.
Wish I could tell you how I treasure my memories of you, and how I would give anything to listen
to you again. I’d like to tell you we have moved to a nicer house, had a trip to England and hopefully
grown a little wiser.
I miss you, Mum. Miss the drive up to sleepy old Nagambie to visit you. I even miss the kids sitting in
the back and chanting, ‘How long till we get there’ But most of all I miss you asking, ‘How are you
love’ And caring about the answer.
Barry Garner is a Professional Writing and Editing student at VU.
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