A year ago, I wrote this blog post.

After her funeral, my dad asked me to dye a special colourway in my mum’s honour. He had very specific colours in mind. (Those of you who know my father are cringing right now, aren’t you?) And a name.

But nothing was ever quite right.

After May 23, 2012, colour changed. How I perceive it. How I see it. How I mix it. It’s all different now. You may have noticed. Or it may be so subtle a change that only I can see it. I have no way of knowing.

I tried. A few times. In my head. In the pot.

Nothing was ever quite right.

Then in December, I asked Ron to dye me a pretty pretty blue to knit on my vacation.

And he did.


It was several weeks, months even, before I could say it out loud. This is my mum’s favourite colour, in all its subtle variations. It’s perfect. It’s hers.

I tried to come up with clever name. I was told it was my job and that there would be no Ron’ing of the name.

There isn’t a clever, funny name. It’s just Mum.


After my mum died, I heard from so many people. It was overwheming and yet the most comforting experience of my life. I haven’t known how to say thank you.

So instead, this.

This is for you if you wrote me to say you words weren’t enough. Because they were. And now when I do the same, I know mine are too.

This is for you if you told me it would come in waves. It does. And when it does, I think of you and hope you feel some of the same comfort when the waves come for you.

This is for you if you planted a hydrangea bushes in exactly this colour in honour of your mum and mine. (yes, you)

This is for you if you emailed me sketches and asked for input on your design to distract me for just a little while. It was exactly what I needed. Thank you for knowing.

(it totally worked)

If you acted as de facto food deliverers and burst into tears when you saw the colour of the casket was the same colour as my mum’s kitchen (her favourite room) and essentially kept me from falling on my face for the past year…I know you don’t knit, but this is for you too. (I won’t tell you we really chose it because it was the cheapest one 😉 )

If you told me it would fucking suck. You were right. Knit up.

If you donated in my mum’s name, prompting letters to my dad that he still talks about with tears in his eyes and his voice…this is yours.

And if you also lost someone special to you this year (yes, you, you and of course, you)…this is so much for you.



23 thoughts on “Mum

  1. Pingback: Renegade Robin2go | Maternal instincts.

  2. Kim – it’s wonderful. Such a beautiful blue – it makes you smile when you look at it. I think your mom is smiling up there somewhere. Her chest puffed out in motherly pride. She raised a wonderful, talented and caring daughter. You have honored her perfectly.

  3. Beautiful, Kim. It does come in waves, and the waves don’t necessarily suck less, but they’re also filled with warmth and favorite things and all of the times that made you smile, too. Overwhelming, but comforting at the same time.

  4. All the above, and so much more. I lost my mom in 2001 and miss her so and always will. Those of us who have lost theirs know the pain and the special memories that accompany the loss. The immediacy of your loss gets duller with time and the ache too. But she will live on in your heart forever.

  5. So much beauty … your words and memories, the colour, and the name of the colour. You’ve not only written a tribute to your mom, you ARE a tribute to her.

  6. Thank you Kim for this post and for being willing to share your love of her with us! This is what Mothers Day should be all about.

  7. Kim, I’m sitting here in tears. You do know this is the gift you gave all of us with the naming auction last year, right? The ability to share a story, and a colour, and our joy and sorrow?

    Thanks for the blue. There are matriarchs (one gone, one still with me) in my family who would wear it with joy.

    As for the suckiness, the acknowledgement that it really does come in waves is key. I would give a great deal to be able to talk about the professional learning I’m doing right noe with my dad. It’s be right up his alley. I miss him horribly right now.

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