Too True…

“I’ve learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you’ll miss them when they’re gone from your life.”
— Maya Angelou

Things

Well ladies (and gentlemen?) the funeral is over. It all went very smoothly. I wrote the eulogy. Peter Cundall read it. Mum’s husband did a bible reading and what a magnificent job he did under the circumstances! The coffin was covered in a hundred red roses and there were dozens of bunches of flowers laid around. Service went smoothly. Anticipated family complications didn’t pan out. Celebration of mum’s life was held back at her house. I created a dvd of photos of her (234 photos!) and set it to her husband’s music. I made a large memory board covered in poems, photos and cards. There was plenty of food made by the boys and I – all recreated to look like my pink breakfast. At the end of the day it all went fantastically and I think mum would have loved it which was my plan.

So now it’s time to move on. I went back to work today which seemed a bit odd. Feel like I’ve been in a time warp…

Anyway, will make a concerted effort to write cheerful posts from now on. Mum didn’t like to focus on the negative! Thank you to everyone for all the kind words and thoughts.

Keeping on keeping on

There are a lot of things to do when organising a funeral.

The hardest thing to do so far is select a gravesite. Mum will rest for eternity near the top of a hill, overlooking kingston beach and bruny island. She loved bruny island.

Farewell Mother

At 10:35 am on Friday 13 November 2009, my mother died. She was 65 years old.

Although she had battled cancer for nearly ten years, and her health in recent months and week had deteriorated to the point she was bedridden, her death still comes as a shock.

Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer ten years ago. They found a stage four tumour, the size of a grapefruit, that was almost ready to burst through the skin. She had a mastectomy and they discovered lots of cancerous lymph nodes at the same time. She had her lymph glands removed then underwent chemotherapy and radiation therapy over the years.

While her treatments were quite drastic and caused significant ill health at times, she also experienced great highs and lots of great life moments over those ten years. She travelled to Scotland, Britain, Paris and the US and had the time of her life. She fell in love with Paris and with Provence in France. She met her husband’s extended family in Scotland and Michigan. And she lived for a period of time in Devon. They were the best of times.

Over the past few years the cancer spread to her lungs and more recently to her bones. Her health slowly deteriorated and she spent the last couple of years continuously hooked up to oxygen machines. Throughout this year the pain increased in her hips and legs as a result of the bone cancer.

Despite all this, she took it upon herself to sell up her home in Melbourne and move to Hobart to be near me and her family. Most of us thought this an impossible task and that she’d never manage it in the condition she was in. Needless to say, in February this year, all her worldly possession were packed up (by the world’s worst removalists…) and she relocated to Hobart with her husband.

They bought a renovator’s delight in a superb position. We all thought she was utterly mad – with so little energy and not a lot of time left – yet she took on the task of a massive renovation anyway. The house had two levels. Upstairs she had completely gutted and new kitchen, bathroom, living areas and bedrooms built. Downstairs (aka the dungeon) is a self contained unit with bedroom, kitchen, bathroom and living areas – but all underground with very few windows. She lived in the dungeon for three months before finally, finally moving into her beautiful newly renovated home in July.

I spent hours and days with her, unpacking boxes, rearranging the antique teapots, vintage dresses and russian doll collection. They arrived in Hobart with over 200 boxes, and I’m sure the majority were packed with antiques and ornaments.

As the house became more finished, mum’s health got worse and worse. She had weeks at a time when she left bed only to go to the toilet. She said to me several weeks ago that she hoped not to last too much longer as the pain, breathlessness and anxiety were more than she wanted to cope with. Up until her very last days, she sat up in bed making plans for different things on the house. The roof is now insulated. The flyscreens arrive soon.

Wednesday she looked to be in great spirits and was really energetic – bossing everyone around and enjoying tv. Thursday she woke with the worst pain she had ever experienced, and was then instructed by palliative care nurses to take more doses of morphine. Most of Thursday she seemed pretty odd and very out of it, which I had thought was the morphine. By Thursday night she had slipped into a coma. I spent all Thursday with her helping do things. I came back Thursday night and helped her husband move her into a more comfortable position. As we moved her down the bed, her eyes popped open and she looked at me and smiled. I never saw her awake again. Later that evening in a semi-conscious state she reached out to her husband and mouthed repeatedly, “Thank you my darling. Thank you my darling.” She tried to reach out and put her arm around his neck but didn’t have the strength. She slipped into a coma.

At 8:30am Friday morning I went over with my husband and the boys. At 10am her mother, my grandmother, arrived. Her breathing was becoming more ragged. I organised the boys to move the piano to where she’d wanted it and rearranged some furniture she’d wanted changed. Picky baked a cake. The day was glorious and still and sunny. The garden in full bloom. We all spent time with her, saying goodbye, holding her hand, kissing her forehead. At one point her eyes popped open for a while and she looked really stressed. Gradually they relaxed, her pulse slowed and eventually her breathing stopped. At the very moment of her last breath we were all running around looking for cotton buds and water to try and keep her mouth moist. None of us were there for her last breath – something I will always regret. Her passing seemed incredibly peaceful in the end. Her fingers, that have been dark purple due to lack of circulation for as long as I can remember, became white.

I can’t believe my mother is gone.

In honour of her memory, I’ll share some photos with you. Most aren’t very good quality, but it’s all I’ve got.

Miss Invisible

When I was younger (when was that? I barely remember now…) I remember hearing my aunts (or was it my mother’s cousins?) discussing the age of invisibility.

I used to think they were being ridiculous and melodramatic, but now I’ve discovered exactly what they meant. Once a woman hits a certain age – and perhaps that certain age is accompanied by a certain weight – well, nobody notices her at all any more. And I think I’m there. I suspect I could stand naked in the middle of the mall and set my head on fire and nobody would notice.

Well perhaps they’d notice that.

But in general, nobody sees you once your fat and frumpy and forty. The shop attendants stare at your credit card and take your money, but they never look you in the eye. The  snotty nosed ratbags on the street have eyes only for each other. The old people are too busy complaining about the young people to notice the middle people.

Invisible.

That’s what I am.

It feels a bit sad really…