A mother’s mother

Mum’s plaque at Centennial Park Cemetery includes the understated words “devoted mother” and “loving grandmother”.

One of my earliest memories (in the late 1960s at the age of 3 or 4) was of poking a piece of paper into a bar heater,  and of my mother running toward me, snatching the burning paper and running out the back door of our Port Pirie house with it, throwing it into an empty metal bin.

More than 40 years later in 2002, my 2 year old son Nicholas was running from our front yard, too close to the road. Mum, having only just recovered from a major lower leg fracture, did her best to run after him, even before anyone else reacted. No thought for herself.

That’s who she was. She was so child-centric, thinking of others before herself was as natural to her as breathing. Selfless. A mother’s mother.

I only wish she could have watched Nicholas grow up and that she could have known my daughter, Heather. She would have had a wonderful influence on both and seen them as often as she could.

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