Follow the dragonfly

Sunday marked the 4th year since losing Mum.

I say marked, but although I was aware of the date approaching, I spent Sunday afloat on the lake at Frampton, running the safety boat in the morning and racing my Laser in the afternoon. Dad spent the day working in his garden. I'm not sure either of us truly noticed the anniversary until the next day, when my daughter posted something up on social media.

Tasha did call me Sunday. I missed the initial call because I was out on the water, didn't call her back until the evening, when she and I had a lovely long natter and catch-up. She didn't mention her Gran, although I'm guessing now she was on her mind.

I thought, for a moment, that perhaps I should feel bad for letting the date go by unremarked. But truth be told, I'm not particularly good with dates, neither was Mum and neither is Dad. By way of an amusing aside, and it really does make me chuckle now and (eventually) did then, I remember they forgot my 17th birthday. It fell on a weekend and went unremarked until about 1900 that evening, when they finally realised why I'd been "sulking" all day. Although for the record, I don't sulk, regardless of what my wife, brother and late mother might otherwise claim or have claimed on occasion. Although I will confess it could be argued that I have an occasionally unfortunate weakness for wearing my heart on my sleeve.

Not good with dates. But then I don't feel the need to be. I carry those I love and have loved with me, they are never far from my thoughts, no further than the shadow of a smile, however distant in place or time.

Four years on and the sting has faded a little. The hollow made by the gap she left in our lives achingly remains, but that's okay for it marks that she was there.


On Friday morning I sail for Fowey with Dad and Nik. We'll spend the long Bank Holiday Weekend there with friends, and then decide where to go after; probably on to Falmouth. We won't need to be back in Plymouth until Sunday the 3rd.