It's now a couple of years or so since my Mum died. I think about her often and my little boy talks about her all the time. But something a little unusual happened at the weekend, that I wanted to put down in words.
When my mum was ill, she was in a hospital nearby. In the next bed was an older gentleman and after a very long wait one day for results we all started talking. He was from a very old gypsy family. His wife came into visit and they told me they had a touring fair. They were very interesting but Mum got much worse and we moved to a ward where there was no one to talk to and things got worse and worse for us.
This weekend we saw some hand painted signs for a small fair in our village. We took the kids along and being such a hot day not many other people had ventured out - so the small fair was pretty much deserted apart from us.
Kieran wanted to have a go on the side stall where you can pick any bag with a long stick with a hook on it. The woman serving us looked familiar and when the gentleman came up I recognised him from the next bed to my mum's. He didn't recognise me.
Kieran picked a bag at random. When he pulled out his prize I nearly burst into tears. It was an exact replica of the Winnie the Pooh soft toy my mother had bought in probably the 1980s - her favourite dog was called Winnie. When I cleared her house after she had died the toy was there in pride of place next to her bed.
Coincidences. The toy will be treasured, whatever.