i can't even count that high!

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Mumsy celebrates a birthday today which requires a whopping amount of candles on a {currently non-existent} birthday cake. She is seventy-five. But she's not really seventy-five, not in my head. In my head she's ageless, and she's every age. Because she's simply my Mum. She's been every sort of Mum she could be. Patient, kind, loving, tolerant, forgiving, understanding, beautiful, fascinating, funny, worried, angry, hopeful, silly, tearful, quirky ... She raised four children practically single-handed following a messy divorce, four children who entered teenagehood with their own messy heads and who, between them all, managed to create more than a decade full of pain ... runaways, overdoses, fights, school issues, so much anger. Those children are now adults, and despite still having our daemons we are all amazing and successful in our own ways. My Mummy did that. My brave, strong, independent, bursting with unconditional love Mummy, dragged us all into adulthood, kicking and screaming, and when she was satisfied that we could survive, she let us fly. And boy, did we fly, always safe in the knowledge that she is there when we need her. The older she gets, the more I worry. But this is natural, and perhaps my worry is pure selfishness; one day she won't be here and I won't be able to do the one thing which makes me feel truly safe and secure anymore ... feel her arms around me. Still, not that I need to worry. She's the most technological-savvy, sociable and popular seventy-five year old I know! Honestly, that woman has to check her diary to see when she can fit me in to her busy schedule. And I shan't see her this weekend because she's off on a jolly with her church! Happy Birthday, Mumsy!