Mum! You’ll never guess what? Doris Day has only gone and stolen your thunder and died. Today! On your birthday. Can you believe it!? 97 years old, apparently. Almost 30 years older than you and she didn’t have the decency to wait another few hours to allow me to feel the pain of you today – to wallow in my loss and feel a bit sorry for myself – without having to feel sad for her too.
We used to love a good Doris Day film, didn’t we, Mum? You’d be busy cooking the Sunday Roast and the small TV would be on in the corner. A Sunday film on with Doris belting out Whip Crack Away or By The Light of The Silvery Moon. I still remember trying to sing Que Sera Sera, I thought she was singing my name – singing directly to me! Her voice was like velvet, but it was also crystal clear.
Well, I’m a little cheesed off that she’s stolen a little of my grief today.
You won’t remember (that’s the shitter with Dementia) but David Bowie died on my 40th birthday. I woke early, ready to accept lots of birthday wishes from all those I hold dear. Instead, my phone pinged with an awful lot of distress and shock over Bowie’s sudden death. I got my messages too, of course, I think I even managed to have a brief chat with you, but I felt diminished. Over-shadowed.
It might sound dramatic, but you’re only 40 once. Doris Day’s death is probably not quite as massive news, but you’re only 69 once, Mum. The big one next year, if you make it of course (that’s another shitter with Dementia) – perhaps we’ll have a party and make you a cake. Or perhaps it will be just like any other day with you sitting in a chair, oblivious to life going on around you.
Happy birthday, Mum. If I had made a cake (I haven’t, I’m not very good at it, remember?) I would be lighting some candles in your honour and blowing them out with just one wish – To have you back again.
Miss you, you crazy (now older) old bird x