Dear Mum,

I can remember every single line on your face, did you know that?

If I close my eyes and picture your skin, it’s like a little map of our lives together.

When you were alive you said you had always struggled with your skin. You told me it started in adolescence. You not only broke out in spots and the occasional pimple, your pores regularly became blocked with excess sebum and boils would break out on your face.

You told me acne made you feel down at times and I can remember as a little girl watching you sitting at the kitchen table with a tea towel over your head, topping up the washing up bowl with boiling water straight from the kettle.

I remember asking what you were doing.

‘I’m opening my pores Love.’ You’d explain.

‘Don’t stand too close Lucia, this water’s red hot and it will scald you if you get splashed, move away Love.’

I stood back and stared, mesmerised.

I don’t remember one spot on your face though Mum and I find that quite remarkable considering all the stories you would tell me about your ‘problem skin.’

‘I’ve had them everywhere.’ You’d tell me. ‘In the corner of my eyes, at the back of my ears, around my nose and under my chin.’

‘Will I get spots Mum?’ I asked.

‘No love, you’ve got dry skin like your Dad’s, not oily skin like mine.’

You told me that on your wedding day, you woke up in the morning, looked in the mirror and for the first time you could remember, your skin was completely clear.

No spots, no boils, no pimples.

Nothing.

You couldn’t believe it.

I remember we had bottles of Clearasil in the bathroom cupboard next to the tweezers and the nail clippers, all through my childhood and I can see the crystal glass bowl with cotton balls in it on the shelf now.

I can’t remember the spots though, how is that even possible?

What I do remember though are the ‘pot marks.’

‘What are pot marks Mum?’ I asked.

‘They are the little scars left behind after the spots have gone.’ You told me.’

I loved every single one of those pot marks. There was one in particular above your top lip that was in the shape of a little cross.

I remember kissing it and not knowing what it was. I thought it was just part of you, your face, the face I loved more than anyone else’s.

‘You’ve missed my lips.’ You’d say.

‘I’m kissing your little cross’ I’d say, wrapping my arms around your neck.

I’ve never had trouble with my skin, I’m so fortunate but I wouldn’t change my Mum’s face for the world. Every little mark is what made her unique and brave.

In this photo, you’ve not got a stitch of makeup on Mum, not that you wore a lot anyway, like me, a bit of bronzer now and again, bit of lippy and a couple of blunt eye pencils to make our little eyes appear bigger and to draw some eyebrows on.

In this photo, taken on the farm during Lockdown, It’s Bonfire Night, and I’m forcing toasted marshmallows down you. I’d stuck a sparkler in a corn cob and encouraged you to sit under the gazebo in the garden with us all while we set off some fireworks.

As the fireworks lit up the night sky, I looked at your beautiful face in all it’s realness and authenticity.

I loved every inch of it. I still do which is why I close my eyes sometimes and picture it in every detail, every line, every mark, everything.

I miss you Mum,

Love as always,

Queen x
13/03/2023