If she were with me now, she’d be chatting to the girl that served me, to all the passersby, squinting those warm, smiling eyes, radiating her love to anyone she encountered, annoying those not open to her charms.
If she were with me now, she’d talk of this and that, of who was in favour and who was out, of her frustrations and joys with family, friends and colleagues, of an impossible dream that filled her heart with hope.
If she were with me now, swirls of thick, grey smoke would fill the air ripe with profanities in an endless chain of pent up feelings given vent to by tobacco and companionship and the freedom to be herself.
If she were with me now, laughter, hope and love would fill my heart, if only….
Saturday, 19 February 2011
Hidden Jewels
Just listen to my mother and maybe all you can hear is nonsense;
Perhaps all you can see is illness and a woman lost and confused.
But listen with you heart and your eyes as well as your ears
And you will get the essence of what she says and who she still is.
The words may not connect with the thought that generates them;
The eyes betray her frustration, confusion and fear;
But watch her intently, hold her hand and look deeply into her eyes
And she being speaks of her joy, her fears and her love.
She utters a desire for early death but her heart still hangs on ever hopeful,
For she is not ready to give up on the driving force in her life: people.
Now unable to support herself and seemingly angry at her demise,
She cannot hide the glimpses we get of her occasional peace and joy.
As she flirts with this one and that; she teases and plays; she goes about her day;
Her old body still has a youthful, mischievous mind and stubborn demeanour.
So listen for what she cannot say: give vent to her trapped emotions;
Be patient, loving and calm and she will reward you with her love.
Perhaps all you can see is illness and a woman lost and confused.
But listen with you heart and your eyes as well as your ears
And you will get the essence of what she says and who she still is.
The words may not connect with the thought that generates them;
The eyes betray her frustration, confusion and fear;
But watch her intently, hold her hand and look deeply into her eyes
And she being speaks of her joy, her fears and her love.
She utters a desire for early death but her heart still hangs on ever hopeful,
For she is not ready to give up on the driving force in her life: people.
Now unable to support herself and seemingly angry at her demise,
She cannot hide the glimpses we get of her occasional peace and joy.
As she flirts with this one and that; she teases and plays; she goes about her day;
Her old body still has a youthful, mischievous mind and stubborn demeanour.
So listen for what she cannot say: give vent to her trapped emotions;
Be patient, loving and calm and she will reward you with her love.
Goodbye
Waxen, jaundiced flesh still warm yet fast setting firm; dejected pod devoid of your essential self, the quintessential you. My lips gently kiss your now cold brow one last time, more from love and respect than belief that I am kissing “you”. Silence fills the air, no life energy present except my own. The stillness is almost shocking, contrasting violently with the rapid, short, shallow gasps for air but a few hours earlier as I kissed you goodbye.
You are here no more, busy instead visiting those you’ve known and loved, to bid them farewell, free at last from this mortal prison that confined your true spirit for so long.
Goodbye.
You are here no more, busy instead visiting those you’ve known and loved, to bid them farewell, free at last from this mortal prison that confined your true spirit for so long.
Goodbye.
Forlorn Hope?
Sat by what may well be my mother’s death bed, day after day, hopes dashed, raised then dashed again, I am utterly drained, not knowing how long I can bear it. I notice how I cope with life by creating little certainties everywhere I can in a forlorn attempt to control my world. This way I can adjust to almost anything, with profound loss, financial or human, but without it I am afraid, lost at sea in my tumultuous world.
So these last four days have been horrendous, first peacefully accepting her pending death after the initial shock of her fall and pneumonia, orchestrating loving visits by family and friends, then the unexpected prospect of recovery coupled with guilt for seemingly giving up all hope, a pattern only to be repeated all over again, leaving me uncertain as to what to say or do and emotionally crushed, as I sob openly.
An unlikely messenger tells me to take care of myself, raising awareness of my own vulnerability, not only in the face of death but in my life in general. Certain in my mother’s love, I know now to nurture myself as I know she would were she still able. Maybe she still is as I recall, tired, laying my head on her bed, holding her hand to comfort her and transmit love and light to heal her when suddenly she gently pulls away her hand and took my upper arm to comfort me! It seems there truly is no love more selfless and unconditional than a mother’s love for her child.
So these last four days have been horrendous, first peacefully accepting her pending death after the initial shock of her fall and pneumonia, orchestrating loving visits by family and friends, then the unexpected prospect of recovery coupled with guilt for seemingly giving up all hope, a pattern only to be repeated all over again, leaving me uncertain as to what to say or do and emotionally crushed, as I sob openly.
An unlikely messenger tells me to take care of myself, raising awareness of my own vulnerability, not only in the face of death but in my life in general. Certain in my mother’s love, I know now to nurture myself as I know she would were she still able. Maybe she still is as I recall, tired, laying my head on her bed, holding her hand to comfort her and transmit love and light to heal her when suddenly she gently pulls away her hand and took my upper arm to comfort me! It seems there truly is no love more selfless and unconditional than a mother’s love for her child.
Facets of Disease
I wrote the following piece after my cousin, Sally, was diagnosed with cancer for the third time in ten years and in fact this time, though cured of the cancer itself, the told it all took on her body had her decide that at 42 she had had enough and an opportunistic infection took her life only a month before my mother died.
My cousin has cancer again and beyond the tedium of the routine of treatment and the expected recovery lie the many aspects of the disease in her life and the lives of every member of her family.
In Sally, I see courage and determination liberally interspersed with a mixture of fear and bewilderment. Her assurances of prospects of recovery betray a loving concern for the impact of her illness on those around her and retaining their confidence in her ability to survive and a deep-rooted fear for the future, beyond the current bout of this vile disease that strikes a cord of fear at its very mention, “the C word” so scary that we sometimes cannot bring ourselves to utter its name.
In my uncle, I see a frightened, lonely boy desperately struggling to provide the manly support for his family as it faces another barrage of challenges, as if there have not been enough in recent times. “How much longer can I bear this before I burst?” are words he dare not utter out loud but his eyes reveal the deep love and fear for his first-born child and frustration at his own inability to make it all go away.
In my aunt, I see a gentle pillar of strength and source of infinite calm, pouring oil on troubled waters as family feelings inevitably boil over, her new-found faith giving her inner strength and an ability to contribute in ways she never knew she could. She faces her own doubts and fears honestly and peacefully but not without pain. She sees everything and listens carefully, providing comfort for each and every member of her beloved family.
And me? I am filled with love, compassion and a degree of melancholy yet I trust that whatever happens is meant to be and that Sally will live her life fully, no matter when it is destined to end and quietly I fear being less supportive than I would like for my dear cousin so desperately seeking peace of mind and spirit.
My cousin has cancer again and beyond the tedium of the routine of treatment and the expected recovery lie the many aspects of the disease in her life and the lives of every member of her family.
In Sally, I see courage and determination liberally interspersed with a mixture of fear and bewilderment. Her assurances of prospects of recovery betray a loving concern for the impact of her illness on those around her and retaining their confidence in her ability to survive and a deep-rooted fear for the future, beyond the current bout of this vile disease that strikes a cord of fear at its very mention, “the C word” so scary that we sometimes cannot bring ourselves to utter its name.
In my uncle, I see a frightened, lonely boy desperately struggling to provide the manly support for his family as it faces another barrage of challenges, as if there have not been enough in recent times. “How much longer can I bear this before I burst?” are words he dare not utter out loud but his eyes reveal the deep love and fear for his first-born child and frustration at his own inability to make it all go away.
In my aunt, I see a gentle pillar of strength and source of infinite calm, pouring oil on troubled waters as family feelings inevitably boil over, her new-found faith giving her inner strength and an ability to contribute in ways she never knew she could. She faces her own doubts and fears honestly and peacefully but not without pain. She sees everything and listens carefully, providing comfort for each and every member of her beloved family.
And me? I am filled with love, compassion and a degree of melancholy yet I trust that whatever happens is meant to be and that Sally will live her life fully, no matter when it is destined to end and quietly I fear being less supportive than I would like for my dear cousin so desperately seeking peace of mind and spirit.
Bitter Sweet Pill of Love
It is a strange irony that the visits I make to my mother are a bitter sweet pill for her. She craves my company, my attention, my love and my support and yet my being there is also a sharp reminder that the all too brief visits will soon end and the fear and loneliness that eat away at her mind along with her illness will invade her once again.
She has few glimpses of the joy of the moment, being ever conscious instead of the fear and loneliness that my presence highlight by sheer contrast. I can see in her eyes the thought that I will soon leave and she struggles to find cause to keep me there longer, ever more desperate, resorting to meaningless questions or requests for help – anything in a hopeless effort to hold onto me for a moment longer.
I feel I almost do more harm than good by my many relatively brief visits and our weekly breakfast together, for it upsets her more than when I don't see her for the day. Yet I rise above that concern, feeling, rightly or wrongly, that if I bestow myself and my love upon her openly, freely and unabashed, somehow she is better off with my visits than without.
She has few glimpses of the joy of the moment, being ever conscious instead of the fear and loneliness that my presence highlight by sheer contrast. I can see in her eyes the thought that I will soon leave and she struggles to find cause to keep me there longer, ever more desperate, resorting to meaningless questions or requests for help – anything in a hopeless effort to hold onto me for a moment longer.
I feel I almost do more harm than good by my many relatively brief visits and our weekly breakfast together, for it upsets her more than when I don't see her for the day. Yet I rise above that concern, feeling, rightly or wrongly, that if I bestow myself and my love upon her openly, freely and unabashed, somehow she is better off with my visits than without.
Another Dreaded Milestone
Today was a day I have secretly dreaded for a long time, the day when for the first time my mother didn’t recognise me. That I knew it would come does not really help. I try to be philosophical about it, looking for positive I seek in every challenge in life: the seemingly rapid progression of her illness may ironically be a blessing for her, if difficult for those who love her, because perhaps it means she will soon sink into oblivion, that she may no longer suffer as we have seen her do for so long now, that she may sooner be released and die, at last at peace.
I don’t believe in reincarnation or an afterlife* but if there is either, I am clear I want to be with my mother again one day; if not, then I am contented because I know I have said everything to her I need to for me to be at peace, even if either one of us should die tomorrow. I have told her endlessly how much I love her; thanked her for her unconditional love, support and trust; acknowledged her for her courage, her love of people and her accomplishments; cherished every lesson she taught, the gift of warmth in communication and those special moments both before and since her illness began. It is a strange irony that in sickness we come to truly value life and love and my dear mother has given me that too and I am privileged.
* so confirmed am I in a belief in both since a few weeks before my mother’s unexpected death, I feel compelled to mark it as my past
I don’t believe in reincarnation or an afterlife* but if there is either, I am clear I want to be with my mother again one day; if not, then I am contented because I know I have said everything to her I need to for me to be at peace, even if either one of us should die tomorrow. I have told her endlessly how much I love her; thanked her for her unconditional love, support and trust; acknowledged her for her courage, her love of people and her accomplishments; cherished every lesson she taught, the gift of warmth in communication and those special moments both before and since her illness began. It is a strange irony that in sickness we come to truly value life and love and my dear mother has given me that too and I am privileged.
* so confirmed am I in a belief in both since a few weeks before my mother’s unexpected death, I feel compelled to mark it as my past
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