It's a year since Mum died.
I guess, because we lived 300 miles apart, there's a sense in which she remains alive in the same way she always was to me, a presence in my heart rather than in my sitting room.
I have also found more concrete ways for her to continue to be part of my life.
I brought home some of her calligraphy artwork and have been gradually framing it for myself and the children.
My favourite is an experimental piece which says 'the test of a vocation is the love of the drudgery it involves.' This was a quote she often repeated, as she enjoyed every aspect of her calligraphy, and even learned how to cut goose quills and to make ink from soot and oak apples.
Amongst the artwork there was also a drawing - a swift chalk portrait of me as a little girl. If it were possible, everyone should have their portrait drawn by someone who really loves them. There can be no likeness as cherished.
And if I want a hug, I can still find her love in the indestructible sweaters she knitted me.
There are many other ways in which her life still touches mine and I do believe that as time goes by, I think of her more, not less.
