My Tribute to Clarice

It's late mam! It's far too late! I should have written this thank-you note forty years ago before you passed on to a much better place. Fortunately, I do believe in the maxim, “Better Late than Never”. More importantly, I also believe that you will sense this; hear this; feel this; see this, and perhaps even touch this note of thanks from me - to you.

I know now, how much you did for me. I know now, how much you sacrificed for me and I know now how much you loved and protected me - but I didn't know it at the time.

I remember my very young years. You wouldn't let me climb into bed without first warming the sheets with my hot water bottle. I never slept in a cold bed at night. You made each morning delightful by letting me eat my jam-on-toast in front of the electric fire in the parlour. Tuesdays and Thursdays were extra special days. That's when my comics arrived. Nothing was more exciting than reading about the exploits of “Desperate Dan” over breakfast. And, then, you would walk me to school while letting me hold your hand all the way.

You were the best mam in the world. Your home-made chicken soup; your soggy cheese and tomato butties and your extra special macaroon cup-cakes were everything a boy could wish for. Add to that, my hot cup of Horlicks before bedtime and that made you number one in my book.

I remember the look of horror on your face when I got up one morning with my nose sideways. My my friend Geoff had accidentally side-swiped me across the face with a tennis racquet the night before and I crept into bed so you wouldn't see my disfigurement. Your screams of agony as you watched the doctor push it back into place without anaesthetic still resonate in my head today. But, worst of all, were the recurring boils on my legs. Never will I forget those unending hours of pain and anguish. Only your gentle hands could administer those punishingly hot poultices pain-free.

You used to worry about me as I grew up - didn't you mam? Just like the day when I passed my motorcycle driving test with flying colours on my first attempt. When I got home, I found that you had bought me a set of my favourite comics to console me - just in case I'd failed.

How do I go about saying “Thank You”, mam, especially, when I wasn't even there to help you through your time of need. What I've touched on briefly so far may not sound like much to most people - but they mean everything to you and me. They show how a mother loved her son.

Something's wrong! Something's odd! ...The background noises of the evening silence; the sounds of distant traffic; neighbours coming and going; the TV downstairs and even the hum of the kitchen fridge have all gone quiet. What's happening? ...I'm flushed all over...I feel warm......I'm content.

Oh! ....Thank you mother for embracing me. Now I know you've heard every word I've said.