Eight, Eight, Forty Eight

Eight, Eight, Forty Eight…..Eight, Eight, Forty Eight…

After how many years of not knowing or even being bothered to remember the year my mother was born. This date now resonates in my mind.

While she was in hospital, there would be at least one hospital staff that would pull back the curtains every hour and ask for her name and date of birth…

– Zenaida Mangune…..eight, eight, forty eight…..

Everyone would ask her how she was feeling. Despite feeling defeated some days, she would still smile and tell them that she was ok. Even when they repeatedly stabbed her with the needle to get a blood sample, she still smiled and thanked them. I can only imagine a small portion of this pain. I had to have my blood taken from the same arm when I was pregnant, I tell you what – I wanted to kick the nurse that missed my vein. I don’t know how my mother kept smiling….and she didn’t even have access to morphine at that time.

What a trooper. I want to be like her when I grow up.mumnme2

Today is her birthday. Her day, and at the end of the month, it will be her day once again. Only then, it will mark her 4 year death anniversary. …

….meh….ok, back to birthdays and food…..

Each year, Matt and I make sure that we have lunch or dinner as if she was going to be joining us to celebrate. By that, I mean that we serve up meals that she likes. This is my way of feeling close to her on her birthday.

aaahh food….my delicious therapy….

Over the next few posts here and on Instagram, I will share pictures and recipes of what we had tonight for her birthday. You don’t want to miss my mum’s recipe leche flan, it’s amazing.

Catch you guys soon. I’m off to have a cup of tea then bed. Back to work tomorrow (sad face).





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