My Mum Got Married In Purple

Editorial Assistant Max Brady Cooper reflects on cherished memories with his mother, and the necessity of spending the present moment with those you love.

The truth is, memories fade. They become veiled and hidden from us as we grow older. I have brief flashes, like when I was eight, and my mum threw a Lego car I had built out of the window. It broke into pieces, and I cried so hard I looked like a tomato. Or when she was tucking me into bed one night, and I told her I felt destined to be great. Just recently, she said she would always be proud of me, and I got a little choked up. 

We have always been alike but opposed. I was a rebellious kid, and she’s a teacher, so that went well. I have her last name as my middle name (this is my formal request to have “Brady” added to my author signoff, pretty please). From our noses to my eerie physical similarity to her dad (just without the 60s styled hair), there is always a reminder that although my mum is my biological mum, she’s also more than that. Like me, she’s quite comfortable staying put (don’t ask me why she moved from England to here), and sometimes she needs space to watch her murder mystery shows (I prefer books). I’m telling you all of these things about my mum, trying to show you who she is and the parts of her I recognise in myself, yet much of her past is veiled from me. 

I don’t know who my mum is. At least not as well as I would like to. 

And as we have gotten older, and I’ve become an adult, I have learnt more, definitely. But there is still so much, too much, to learn. My mum wore a purple dress to her wedding, and I only just realised she did because it’s my dad’s favourite colour (wow). Or how her unofficial first date with my dad was a visit to a prison (WHAT). And these are stories that only come up because my dad was there. What about her trips to France as a schoolgirl, her work as a barmaid, or time spent playing with cousins on the streets of Birmingham? These stories and more are veiled from me. 

But, from time to time, she remembers some old story and shares it with my sisters and me. Ranging from the time a sibling stole a lemon sherbet, to distant family that moved to America, and all became Christian brothers and nuns. Sometimes the best stories are the ones you hear, word of mouth, and not the #1 New York Times Best Seller (aren’t they all). Plus, if I did know these emotionally compelling stories, it seems I’d spill the beans to you, random people, whom I don’t know, because I’m desperate for money (arts majors, am I right?). So maybe it's better. Maybe some memories and stories should be kept to the real world, spoken only in the moment and not stored FOREVER on some company's database, which they’ll probably use when programming some AI (that totally won’t take over the world wink wink). 

There is a possible downside, though, because oral storytelling could mean the stories are lost to time, and I am deeply afraid of fading away, of becoming a phantom and wanderer whose achievements amount to nothing. This (irrational but rational) fear extends to my mum. Will she be remembered when she passes? Why shouldn’t she be? She’s done amazing things for me, spanning from carrying me in her womb for nine months to buying a new book to fuel my reading as a boy. More than that, she has (as a teacher) educated, helped and given back to communities around the world in amazing ways that most can only dream of doing. So why must she become veiled in history and its damn short memory that seems to hold places only for genocidal warmongers (mostly men, of course). It seems a bitter thing to swallow, but I guess that's life. In time, all things will be veiled and lost. As little humans, we spend so much time in life doing small, unimportant things, and sometimes even big, amazing things, that we are bound to (and do) forget. Important, boring, secret, fantastic things can be and are all forgotten. And we march on, veiled. My mum marches on veiled (I’m pretty sure she has no wish to start WWIII). We continue onwards, making new memories. From travelling to new places together, to laughing at old jokes we somehow remember, or simply knowing what the other wants to order from a pizza shop. And in time, we forget these things.

That is how you remain present and remembered, by living a good life, and not one obsessed with history and legacy. Some things are left behind in the past, but I know I’ll remember my mum’s bombastic side eyes and restrained giggles even when I start to grow white hair. I’ll definitely have told my own kids about the Lego car out the window or the bear hugs that made me feel seen (she’ll already have given them hundreds). They may forget these things one day, but that’s okay. 

I don’t know all of my mum’s greatest dreams or silly childhood memories, but I do know her. And every year, every day, every hour, every minute, every second, I learn something new. So forget about legacy. Forget about fame and going down in history; the veil will cover us all eventually. Until then, watch a sunset, talk to a loved one about their day, and so on. Live life the best you can, and make it one filled with lots of the present, and not too much of the past and future.

Love you, Mum!!!

by Max Brady Cooper