My Mum and Dad My mum was truly beautiful. I say “was” because she passed away six months ago, jus…

My Mum and Dad

My mum was a beautiful woman. I say was because she passed away six months ago, just two weeks after my dad. Even though they were both well into their eighties, it still feels to me like their lives were far too short. After all, they were my mum and dad.

So, yes Mum was a real beauty. I saw it myself, because even as her son, Im still a man. And my dad would never let me forget it he reminded me about it for as long as I can remember. Even when Mum would scold me for failing at school or for some other trouble, Dad would come into my room, sigh mournfully, sit beside me, clasp his hands between his knees just like I did, sigh again, and sit silently for ages. Hed always finish our quiet chats the same way:

All right, lad, dont be cross with your mum Sure, she shouted, she told you off, but lets be honest, neither of us are a walk in the park and remember, shes a girl. We both need her like we need air. Why dont you go and say sorry?

And I Id puff up my chest, ready to protest, eyes blazing and glaring at Dad. But hed see it coming, stretch his hand out in front of me, palm open as if to silence me and said, calm but stern, And dont you dare say a bad word about my wife!

So, Id deflate and keep quiet. Because I loved Dad enormously. And I loved Mum too, just as much.

Thats partly because I knew how they ended up marrying one another. Dad told me in confidence, away from Mum. And Mum told me as well just between us, of course, keeping it from Dad.

Mum was studying at university then just a first year. She was planning to marry some chap named Edward. One evening, Edward turned up for a date and brought along his mate, Brian, whod just arrived in London and didnt know what to do with himself for a whole evening. So, Edward thought hed bring Brian along on his date yes, on his date with my mum, almost his fiancée by that point.

Edward introduced Brian to my (as yet future) mum. And, as youve probably guessed, Brian turned out to be my dad.

The three of them spent the evening together. They wandered through the park, then sat on the roof of the park bandstand to sneak into the open-air cinema for free and watch some ridiculously funny film. It was Dads idea about the roof (Edward would never have thought of it on his own!). And it was Dad who helped Mum up there, since he was already strong and broad-shouldered, not at all like Edward, who I never actually met, but always imagined must have been a bit weedy compared to my dad.

Edward spent the whole evening making jokes, reciting poetry, and talking grandly about how he and Mum would live once theyd both finished university. Dad, meanwhile, listened in silence, just sniffing now and then (or so Mum told me). When it came time to say goodbye, Dad took Mums small, warm hand in his big, rough one and said:

Victoria! You dont want him. Marry me instead.

Mum was startled and blurted out, When?

Dad, focussed as ever (so I imagine), answered at once: Tomorrow.

And, just to really knock the wind out of Mum (and poor Edward for good measure), he added: Well have a son together. Well both love him ever so much. And because of him, well end up loving each other even more. Well call him George. Like the kings.

All right, Mum agreed straight away. And thats how she and Dad got married.

Edward was best man standing up on the grooms side at their wedding.

Afterwards, Mum and Dad finished university and together moved up to Cumbria, since both their degrees read geological surveyor. There, up in the hills, they were given their very first flat: the mine foreman had a tiny storeroom at the community club cleared out and converted for the long-awaited young specialists.

And in due course, their much-anticipated George arrived that was me. And, just as Dad had promised Mum, they both loved me ever so much.

Dad managed to wrangle an old mare named Lady Margaret from the stables to collect Mum and me from the hospital.

When the three of us arrived at our little converted storeroom (as Dad told the tale), we found Edward waiting on the doorstep of the club, hugging a shiny zinc baby bath. Hed pulled strings to get it. That bath served as my tub and, in the early days (according to Mum), my very first bed as well. Shed line it with the big downy pillow her own mother gave her as a wedding present, pop a clean sheet on top, and thats where Id sleep. When bath time came round, shed whisk the pillow onto her and Dads bed, and Id have a wash. Dad would rush home from work to make sure he didnt miss out not on bathing the red horse, mind, but his son. Hed support my head (so Mum told me), while she lovingly washed her little prince.

I never became a prince, lets be honest. But I reckon I grew into a good geologist, just like Mum and Dad.

Oddly enough, my wife is a geologist too. We met at work, shortly after university. My Sarah was instantly special in Mums eyes. Dad was just as smitten. Whenever they visited us or we went round theirs, Dad and I would step out for a smoke on the balcony, and without fail hed say:

Well, you know, I reckon I got lucky twice in life: first, meeting your mother, and second, you marrying Sarah. Look after her, lad, shes a girl just like your mum.

Dad passed away suddenly in the night. Mum realised straight away that he was gone and woke up

After his death, she seemed to get old all at once and started to forget so many things. She even forgot, sometimes, that Dad was gone. Even after we moved her in with us, shed sit by the window, waiting for Dad to come home from work. And right up until her very last days, she kept making her wonderful homemade rissoles just how Brian likes themOne evening, as the orange dusk settled over our street, I found Mum murmuring softly to herself, clutching Dads old cap in her lap. I sat beside her and she looked up, searching my face, and leaned her head on my shoulder. For a moment, she smileda real smile, the one I remembered from childhood. She said, I hope your dads not late. Supper will be cold.

I wanted to correct her, remind her gently, as I so often had. But this time, I just took her hand and gave it a squeeze. If she wanted to wait for him, Id wait with her.

And so we sat, watching the clouds turn rosy and then fade to indigo, our hands entwined. I realized, then, that love doesnt endeven as memories falter and voices become echoes. It lingers in laughter, in old stories, in ordinary things like zinc baby baths and weathered caps. It shines in all the hellos and goodbyes, and its what brings us home.

That night, after Id settled Mum into bed, Sarah found me standing at the window, looking up at the stars. She came and wrapped her arms around my waist, warm and steady. I thought of Mum and Dadyoung and beautiful, brimming with plans, running wild beneath city lights and mountain skiesand I smiled.

Maybe love really was like air. Invisible, everywhere, and impossible to live without.

Mum slipped away quietly, not long after. On her windowsill, we placed Dads cap and a wildflower from the hills, where theyd found each other all those years ago.

Now, when our own daughterVictoriawants to hear about her grandparents, Sarah and I tell her stories of adventure, geologists, zinc baths, and improbable beginnings. And sometimes, if the night is clear, we take her outside to look at the stars, holding on to one another, breathing it all in.