As the most loyal of my followers know by now, May 7th marks two completely separate events: my little sister’s birthday and my mum’s (now eighth) anniversary. Of course they’re not separate at all; every year until the end of time (or of our family’s time anyway) we will think of the joy that Laura Ann Maye brought into our lives while weeping for our beloved mother who we miss more than words can describe.

Laura is twenty-eight this year, but it’s hard for me to think of her as older than eighteen, getting two birthday cakes at her birthday dinner and screaming as her hair caught fire from the candles. She’s in Helsinki now, working as a Postdoctorate Research Fellow at Aalto University (I double-checked this on Facebook), and yet I still think of her as my ‘little’ sister even though in many ways, she’s more of a grown-up than I’ll ever be.

Every year, memories come flooding back to me, and as I’ve already extensively spoken about my grieving process, I thought I would instead share some of them with you to show you what an amazing, quirky, and often downright inappropriate lady my mother was.

• ‘Girls! Oh my God girls, get up quick, it’s 8.15! You’ll be late for school!’ I jolt awake, not even thinking about how dark it is and turn on the sitting room light to discover that it’s not 8.15, it’s 3.45am and mum has looked at the clock backwards.
• Interesting fact – mum handmade all of our communion dresses as she disapproved of the ‘poofy’ look. Everyone thought mum had bought mine in Laura Ashley. Mum also handmade a lot of her own clothes – jackets, dresses, skirts, waistcoats.
• Mum was the worst at accumulating shite (no other word for it), collecting keyrings, little notebooks, Harrod’s beanie babies, candles, little pebbles. That was fun after she died, trying to decide which collection meant more to her! Not.
• Mum was an artist. In her early days she did a lot of portraits, then she went through a phase of drawing violins, then front doors surrounded by pretty flowers. She made her own Christmas cards. She even painted designs on the little doorknobs on the kitchen presses. She loved bright, bold, primary colours. She did an interior design night class in Portabello College. If she had pursued this line of work. she’d be famous now. Beyond a doubt.
• I have a ridiculously sweet tooth, something I inherit from my mother. It was her that introduced us to sticky toffee pavlova and knickerbocker glories. Honestly, I don’t know how we’re all stick thin either. Think that my siblings and I should donate our bodies to medical science.
• I wouldn’t classify my mum as a scary person, but by God – the day she found out I’d told Sr Concepta in fifth class that my computer at home was broken and I had to write everything down (which was a lie, I just hated the computer) she called into the school, marched up to my class and said ‘Sarah Maye, get your ass out here right now!’ She ate me. Till the day she died she never lived it down.
• We did get to spend some quality time together though, like all the times we went for various appointments, first in the CRC and then in Musgrave Park in Belfast. I remember walking up and down corridors and halls with these bobbly things all over my thin little legs and mum telling me I was modelling these special diamonds. I also remember falling in love with the doctor in Belfast (I was ten) and mum telling him all about it. Morto.
• I also remember coming home from a respite holiday in Roscommon when I was eighteen and walking in the front door. The first thing my mother said was ‘What the hell is that thing around your neck? (It was a new chain, from JP) Who is he?’ After explaining to her that I’d met a boy and we were now an item, she smirked, took up the A4 pad that was on the coffee table and started explaining the birds and the bees, with explanatory diagrams. Lads, I’m not joking – she knew what she was doing because it was the best contraceptive ever. A year later and JP and I were still nervous of leaving the ‘holding hands’ stage. All I could picture was that bloody diagram.
• I’ll never forget the day that Laura came home for the first time, and mum saying I couldn’t hold her until I fastened my dungarees on my own. The fact that I remember this should illustrate how real the struggle was. She placed her in my arms and I remember thinking how tiny she was and more to the point, how unexciting she was. For a while all she did was snooze in her Moses basket and lie there waiting to be fed and changed (lazy git). I couldn’t wait for her to grow up and play with me. And to be fair she, Stephen and Alex were the best siblings ever.

  But Laura and I are close too. I’ve been privileged to watch her through school and attend both her college graduations. Laura, I’ve no doubt that mum is immensely proud of you and what you’ve achieved. And it’s so unfortunate that your birthday is also her anniversary, but you know what? She wouldn’t want you to be miserable on your special day.

So have a lovely day and don’t feel one bit guilty about it, because the 7th May may have taken Mum from us, but it also brought you, and we are all so lucky and grateful that it did xx