Considering that my mum only died 2 weeks ago, it might sound wrong that I've spent so much of the last two weeks with my brother Phil laughing and telling each other funny stories, but hopefully somewhere in there is a clue to what it was like to be part of our family.
You've probably seen the gameshow Bullseye. People used to win some Tungsten darts and 30 quid if they were lucky, and then they'd also win some other stuff like a food mixer and an iron, and they could gamble them at the end to win a speedboat that they couldn't tow because they didn't have a car, but Jim Bowen would always say, about the darts and the 30 quid. That's safe.
And 'that's safe' was mine and mum's favourite catchphrase.
If I was passing her her disabled badge to put away, she'd say that's safe, or if she was passing me some tomatoes to put in the fridge, I'd say, they're safe. To us it was funny every time.
I've been using her car for the last year. Last time I borrowed it, she said to me. Jonathan, you know how I always come to the window to wave to you when you leave, and you know how you always wave back. Yes, I said. Well, I'm not waving to you, I'm waving to my car.
I've always hated decorating, and I think it's because I saw so much of it as a child. I'd get home from school on the 19th December and I'd think 'Great 2 weeks off school', and I'd walk in the house, and she'd be up some ladders wallpapering. And I'd say Mum what the hell are you doing, it's 6 days before Christmas? And she'd say are you blind? What does it look like I'm doing. And I'd say, but mum why? And she'd say she wanted it to be nice for Christmas, and I'd say why no-ones coming, it's just the 3 of us, and she'd say, well it'll be nice for us.
Mum was always very particular about her appearance, and she seemed to be fascinated by shoes. When Phil was still in a pushchair, she used to call him the Road Runner, because whenever she'd stop to look at shoes, he'd get out of the pushchair and run off. I only wish I'd thought of it.
Mum could spend days trying to make her mind up, even about the most trivial of choices. She'd generally like the first pair of shoes that she saw when she was out shopping but then she'd go to 20 other shops to see what else was available and then go back at the end of the day for the ones she'd liked first, which of course had sold out by then.
Trying to order a meal in a restaurant with her was torture. She could never decide what to have. Even when recently I was only taking her out for fish and chips, and pretty much all they sell are fish and chips, she'd say, oh I don't know Jonathan, mushy peas or no mushy peas, it's such a big decision. Whatever she did end up ordering, she wished she'd ordered something else, or she'd think what you were having looked nicer.
Ever since I can remember mum lied about her age. I once pointed out to her, when I was 7, with nothing but primary school maths to go on, that she was lying about her age by at least 6 years.
Shut up Jonathan, she said. In our family Shut up Jonathan was actually a term of affection.
She was always sensitive about getting old though. A few years ago, I once suggested to her that she start going down to the day care centre to get a hot meal once a day.
The day care centre, have you lost your mind? It's full of old people. I'm not ready to join the blue rinse brigade yet Jonathan, most of the people who go there look like upturned bogbrushes, with their little white perms. No thanks.
I don't think I ever saw her with a grey hair her whole life. When she had a stroke a few years, what upset her the most aside from not being able to drive, was not being able to see properly to do her own hair and make up. She wouldn't even go to the hospital without putting her face on.
Mum loved a bargain. She loved finding stuff in the sale or from charity shops. Anything she bought for herself, she'd say 'I thought I'd treat myself'.
The last thing she bought me was a Jasper Conran shirt from a charity shop, I thought about wearing it today, but I think she'd be annoyed if I didn't wear a suit.
The first time she used her blue badge, it saved us £3.50 on parking, and as we pulled into the disabled space, she actually shouted 'Back of the net!'.
I know she'd be appalled that we've spent some of her money on a perfectly good coffin that's just going to be incinerated in about half an hour. What a waste of money, she'd say.
It sometimes occurred to me that she never listened to a word I said. I could spend 40 minutes talking to her, and I'd think 'she hasn't heard a bloody word I've said there', and then two weeks later I'd speak to Phil, only to find out that she'd repeated the story to him word for word.
It's not that she didn't listen, it's just that we couldn't always tell she was listening.
As she might say, she didn't like to make a song and dance about things. I remember telling her I'd passed my exams at school, and she'd say something like that's nice. And so I told her again, just to make sure, and she'd say I heard you the first time, no need to go on about it. No-one likes a show off.
Sometimes when she was talking, her stories could be hard to follow, a bit like mine, she could ramble on a bit and listening to her stories could be quite frustrating.
The day she got her cancer diagnosis I took her to the hospital and that evening she had to ring Phil. The conversation went a little like this. Hi Phil, well my appointment was at Ten , we got there 10 minutes early, but we couldn't get a parking space, all disabled bays were full, eventually we got parked just after 10, the young nurse who checked us in, she's from Barnsley you know, she drives to Leeds every day, it's costing her a fortune in petrol....and I was thinking. For God's sake Mum, just tell him you've got cancer.
A couple of weeks ago I had to ring Phil myself from A&E to tell him mum had died suddenly. It was really playing on my mind, that I didn't want to drag it out in the way that she might have. I didn't quite say. 'Hi Phil, it's Jonathan, mum's dead' but it wasn't far off. I actually felt absurdly pleased for saying it without much of a build up.
Although there's never a good time for your mum to die, the last 7 months I've spent with her since I moved back to Leeds has been one of the best times I've ever had with her.
In the last few weeks before she died, I used to go round for tea a lot, and our current gameshow of choice was Pointless.
It's quite appropriate that we used to watch Pointless, because most of our conversations were pretty pointless. But they were that lovely playful pointlessness that happen between people who love each other, where the content doesn't really matter, all that matters is that you're talking and laughing and spending time together.
We'd talk rubbish to each other about people we saw on TV, like what the hell is he wearing? Why would you wear an orange T-shirt on a gameshow, he's going to be seen by millions, why didn't he wear a shirt? Even if he turned up wearing that, surely they've got a wardrobe department that would have made him wear a shirt. Oh my God, he's got no teeth either, he's only 36, surely he could get himself some teeth on the NHS?
There was very little that happened to us in our lives, that we couldn't laugh about. In fact, some of the grimmest episodes of our lives gave us some of our favourite stories. I think the way the three of us told each other stories was the very best thing about being in our family.
So I hope you'll continue to remember mum, like I will, in the stories that you tell. I'm sure you'll have plenty of your own. And if you can't think of anything funny to put in them, try harder. Because with my mum there was a funny side to almost everything. Just being alive is so absurd at times, that if you can't think of anything else to laugh at, just laugh at that.
You've probably seen the gameshow Bullseye. People used to win some Tungsten darts and 30 quid if they were lucky, and then they'd also win some other stuff like a food mixer and an iron, and they could gamble them at the end to win a speedboat that they couldn't tow because they didn't have a car, but Jim Bowen would always say, about the darts and the 30 quid. That's safe.
And 'that's safe' was mine and mum's favourite catchphrase.
If I was passing her her disabled badge to put away, she'd say that's safe, or if she was passing me some tomatoes to put in the fridge, I'd say, they're safe. To us it was funny every time.
I've been using her car for the last year. Last time I borrowed it, she said to me. Jonathan, you know how I always come to the window to wave to you when you leave, and you know how you always wave back. Yes, I said. Well, I'm not waving to you, I'm waving to my car.
I've always hated decorating, and I think it's because I saw so much of it as a child. I'd get home from school on the 19th December and I'd think 'Great 2 weeks off school', and I'd walk in the house, and she'd be up some ladders wallpapering. And I'd say Mum what the hell are you doing, it's 6 days before Christmas? And she'd say are you blind? What does it look like I'm doing. And I'd say, but mum why? And she'd say she wanted it to be nice for Christmas, and I'd say why no-ones coming, it's just the 3 of us, and she'd say, well it'll be nice for us.
Mum was always very particular about her appearance, and she seemed to be fascinated by shoes. When Phil was still in a pushchair, she used to call him the Road Runner, because whenever she'd stop to look at shoes, he'd get out of the pushchair and run off. I only wish I'd thought of it.
Mum could spend days trying to make her mind up, even about the most trivial of choices. She'd generally like the first pair of shoes that she saw when she was out shopping but then she'd go to 20 other shops to see what else was available and then go back at the end of the day for the ones she'd liked first, which of course had sold out by then.
Trying to order a meal in a restaurant with her was torture. She could never decide what to have. Even when recently I was only taking her out for fish and chips, and pretty much all they sell are fish and chips, she'd say, oh I don't know Jonathan, mushy peas or no mushy peas, it's such a big decision. Whatever she did end up ordering, she wished she'd ordered something else, or she'd think what you were having looked nicer.
Ever since I can remember mum lied about her age. I once pointed out to her, when I was 7, with nothing but primary school maths to go on, that she was lying about her age by at least 6 years.
Shut up Jonathan, she said. In our family Shut up Jonathan was actually a term of affection.
She was always sensitive about getting old though. A few years ago, I once suggested to her that she start going down to the day care centre to get a hot meal once a day.
The day care centre, have you lost your mind? It's full of old people. I'm not ready to join the blue rinse brigade yet Jonathan, most of the people who go there look like upturned bogbrushes, with their little white perms. No thanks.
I don't think I ever saw her with a grey hair her whole life. When she had a stroke a few years, what upset her the most aside from not being able to drive, was not being able to see properly to do her own hair and make up. She wouldn't even go to the hospital without putting her face on.
Mum loved a bargain. She loved finding stuff in the sale or from charity shops. Anything she bought for herself, she'd say 'I thought I'd treat myself'.
The last thing she bought me was a Jasper Conran shirt from a charity shop, I thought about wearing it today, but I think she'd be annoyed if I didn't wear a suit.
The first time she used her blue badge, it saved us £3.50 on parking, and as we pulled into the disabled space, she actually shouted 'Back of the net!'.
I know she'd be appalled that we've spent some of her money on a perfectly good coffin that's just going to be incinerated in about half an hour. What a waste of money, she'd say.
It sometimes occurred to me that she never listened to a word I said. I could spend 40 minutes talking to her, and I'd think 'she hasn't heard a bloody word I've said there', and then two weeks later I'd speak to Phil, only to find out that she'd repeated the story to him word for word.
It's not that she didn't listen, it's just that we couldn't always tell she was listening.
As she might say, she didn't like to make a song and dance about things. I remember telling her I'd passed my exams at school, and she'd say something like that's nice. And so I told her again, just to make sure, and she'd say I heard you the first time, no need to go on about it. No-one likes a show off.
Sometimes when she was talking, her stories could be hard to follow, a bit like mine, she could ramble on a bit and listening to her stories could be quite frustrating.
The day she got her cancer diagnosis I took her to the hospital and that evening she had to ring Phil. The conversation went a little like this. Hi Phil, well my appointment was at Ten , we got there 10 minutes early, but we couldn't get a parking space, all disabled bays were full, eventually we got parked just after 10, the young nurse who checked us in, she's from Barnsley you know, she drives to Leeds every day, it's costing her a fortune in petrol....and I was thinking. For God's sake Mum, just tell him you've got cancer.
A couple of weeks ago I had to ring Phil myself from A&E to tell him mum had died suddenly. It was really playing on my mind, that I didn't want to drag it out in the way that she might have. I didn't quite say. 'Hi Phil, it's Jonathan, mum's dead' but it wasn't far off. I actually felt absurdly pleased for saying it without much of a build up.
Although there's never a good time for your mum to die, the last 7 months I've spent with her since I moved back to Leeds has been one of the best times I've ever had with her.
In the last few weeks before she died, I used to go round for tea a lot, and our current gameshow of choice was Pointless.
It's quite appropriate that we used to watch Pointless, because most of our conversations were pretty pointless. But they were that lovely playful pointlessness that happen between people who love each other, where the content doesn't really matter, all that matters is that you're talking and laughing and spending time together.
We'd talk rubbish to each other about people we saw on TV, like what the hell is he wearing? Why would you wear an orange T-shirt on a gameshow, he's going to be seen by millions, why didn't he wear a shirt? Even if he turned up wearing that, surely they've got a wardrobe department that would have made him wear a shirt. Oh my God, he's got no teeth either, he's only 36, surely he could get himself some teeth on the NHS?
There was very little that happened to us in our lives, that we couldn't laugh about. In fact, some of the grimmest episodes of our lives gave us some of our favourite stories. I think the way the three of us told each other stories was the very best thing about being in our family.
So I hope you'll continue to remember mum, like I will, in the stories that you tell. I'm sure you'll have plenty of your own. And if you can't think of anything funny to put in them, try harder. Because with my mum there was a funny side to almost everything. Just being alive is so absurd at times, that if you can't think of anything else to laugh at, just laugh at that.
We always did.
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