GRRRREY

I painted a portrait for want of a better name of my mother, as a gift to her, when I was still in primary school. I think it was for mother's day. That painting though done so very long ago has stayed in my mind, it filled an A3 sheet of paper and the entire background was taken over with her beautiful black hair. The facial features were typically child=like representations. Dots for eyes, slashes of red for her smiling lips.

I loved to be chosen to brush or comb my mother's thick, long ,slightly curling hair. It was such a pleasant time, but it was BEFORE. Before she bore so many more children and before seeing some of them die. Before my father drank alcohol steadily until it finally caused his death. Before she had to try and care for her children on a widow's pension and before all her pain from an undiagnosed case of diabetes. So when she began to grow wisps of grey through her hair I hated it, I resented loosing that image so firmly set in my mind. My attempts to get her to colour it were futile, she didn't seem able to understand my desire to still see her as I needed to see her. She was a physically strong woman who never truly opened up about her feelings. Her reaction to my father's death was to ball her fist and punch a brick wall. Then do whatever had to be done.

My father's death affected my life, at 18 I began finding grey hair popping up and I would pull them out. I continued to do this as they appeared but when They became too numerous I turned to colouring my hair. My mother was steadily loosing her thick beautiful hair and all signs of its colour. I did not want to look like her. For some reason I rejected any resemblance to her and tried in my own way to distance my self from her decline into the silver haired old lady she became.

I have no desire to continue to reject her or my advancing state of silverdom any longer. I have accepted what's to come and am ready to be the person I am under all of the waves of colours which have been poured onto my head and grown away again just as quickly. I have grey in so many places now I feel compelled to pluck any stray dark hair as it is progressing too slowly through this ugly duckling intermediate stage.

Yes I am 50 years old and Kev is 47. his state of grey now closely matches my own. We will grow older, greyer and eventually wrinkle up together.

I am different to my mum I do express how I feel, some times it just flows from me in a tumbling rush, other times I joke or give slight hints as to what lies underneath. I hope this is not too much information. Still reading my daughters, I love you.