I am talking about the dead.  Where do they go?

I was brought up as a Roman Catholic.  I think Catholics do death well and it is always good to have the concept of an afterlife to fall back on.

Things get trickier when you start questioning it all in your teens and onwards.

My mum died in 2009 so the grief is much less raw these days.  Through Penny over at the Alexander Residence blog and her amazing Little Legacy blog hop, I have reflected on my relationship with my mum and the not always easy life she led.  I have more peace than I did.

Yesterday, I looked around to see if there were signs of Mum.  We went off to an Army Cadet open day.  Not my idea of a fun day apart from the fact I am a mum and knew my boys would love it, all three of them lol.

Mum would tell me that the spirit of a person lives on.  What does that mean?

Does it mean that whilst the boys went on a climbing wall, I focussed on the tombola and bric-a-brac stalls?  Very much my mother’s daughter both in buying yet more clutter and also in paying over the odds feeling sorry for the organisers that few people had turned up.

Does it mean that I was surprised on winning on the tombola that the prize was some Tweed?  You know, Tweed the perfume my Mum used to wear when I was little.  Or does it mean that when I have these moments where I feel mum is playing tricks on me, I remember that Peter Kay comedy sketch where he pokes fun at the bereaved.  “You see that packet of quavers, that’s him”.

Does it mean that as we went to a certain town to do some shopping, I remembered how Mum used to like the houses there.? Not palatial houses by any means but houses she could not realistically aspire to.

Is it when I hear myself saying things she would say and I swore I never would?

Dad and I had our usual fish and chip lunch date on Friday.  I was telling him that Mum gave up smoking one Mother’s Day.  I had bought her a plantpot and on a whim filled it with sweets.  She was ill in bed with flu or similar.  She went without a cigarette all day.  She told me that she had always said that if she gave up for one whole day, she would not smoke again.  Instead, she replaced cigarettes with humbugs.  We worked out this was probably exactly 30 years ago.

When I wrote my mother’s eulogy, the only bit my brother put in was that at the age of 38, Mum went on the Town Hall stage and sang some cheeky song all dressed up in a wild fashion.  Mum always said I was a slow starter but here I am at 43 trying to get a burlesque calendar off the ground.  Mum’s showtime routine was for charity and the calendar will be too.

Does that mean her spirit lives on?  I would like to think so.