Birdsong and silence

Well not silence, never silence, Dave is snoring.

Been awake since 4am. I’m blaming my son. Not because he woke me up —I mean he did because he was coughing so I got up to get him some water— but because he asked me a question earlier.

We’d been showing him some photos of us as babies, I can’t recall why, and I found a photo of me and my Mum. Taken when I was about a year old. I showed it to him and he asked “Do you miss your Mum?”.

What a beautiful soul my son has. He vaguely remembers Grandma McLean, and he’s starting to get to terms with what death is —largely because his favourite elephant, the one at Blair Drummond Safari Park, died— but the notion of “missing” someone because they aren’t here is a new one.

Anyway, once I was awake in the wee small hours, that was the thoughts in my head.

So I got up, had a bowl of cereal and read my book for a while gently serenaded by the morning birdsong, and the gentle snuffling snore of our dog. I do miss my Mum, but my life is largely a good one because of her and how she brought me up.