Birthday Blues

There’s a song of Loudon Wainright (the third) that haunts me whenever I hear it.

It opens –

“Long ago i hit you
we were driving in the car
you were crazy in the back seat
it had gone too far
and i pulled the auto over
and i hit you with all my might
i knew right away it was too hard and i'd never make it right”

I haven’t been there myself, but I understand.

The song continues –

on your face i saw the shock
and then i saw the pain
then i saw the look of fear
the fear i'd strike again
then i saw your anger
your defiant pride
and then i saw one tear drop
the rest you kept inside
i said i was sorry and i tried to clean the slate
but with that blow i'd sewn a seed
and saw it was too late.

Too late.

I missed my mum’s birthday once – I’ve mentioned this before (here) but I was thinking about it again yesterday.

It was my mum’s birthday, yesterday, or would have been - but she is elsewhere.

But I remember the day I forgot her birthday, like it was yesterday – I remember the phone box in Manchester where I phoned from when my dad offered a – “you forgot your mum’s birthday”.

I knew in the instant – I could never make it right.