Monday 21 May 2012

To my mum

My mum died five years ago today.  I've written her this letter. 


So much has happened since you crept gracefully out of life.   I know you’ll be ecstatic that I finally mustered up the courage to walk away from that relationship that was so damaging to me, that you knew has become a mirror image of your marriage.  After you died I tried many things to fix it but in the end I knew that to stay with him would be like a betrayal of you.  So I left and it was the best decision of my life.  You’ll be proud of me, I think, for doing the thing you were never quite able to do.

I’ve started singing.  I know!  I wish you’d lived long enough, and been well enough, to come and see my choir.  It’s been a lifeline for me and I now understand how singing was such an emotional outlet for you, a release of all the feelings you took care to hide from everyone.  When illness took away your singing voice I saw how painful it was for you; now I understand something of how soul-destroying that must have been.   I would love, so much, to be able to sing with you.   Oh, that we could have the chance to do it. 

I cook like you.  Throw it all in, one pot dinners.  My spaghetti bolognese and moussaka taste like yours but I’ve never managed to match your roast potatoes – although let’s be honest, no one could ever match your roast potatoes.   I can never eat cheese on toast (with seasoning salt, of course) without thinking about you, with a smile.  The same goes for chicken noodle soup, our comfort illness food.

I’ve had a horrible year, mum.  I’ve wanted more than anything to curl up on your lap at your end of the sofa and have you make it all better; there were times when I thought about coming to find you in the sweet hereafter or wherever you may be.   I know you’ll understand that, I think you felt that way more often than you ever said. You knew there was a dark shade to me and without you to talk to about it I’ve felt lost.  I’m coming through the other side of it now. Being a strong woman is as much my strength and yet my weakness as it was for you and I’m learning when to ask for help, and accept it.  I’ve learnt so much from what you did and couldn’t do. 

I wish you could have known B.  You’d like him ever such a lot.  He’s even got me interested in gardening, so maybe I have got your green fingers after all.  He makes up silly songs and I can just picture the two of you together in your garden, pottering about among the hardy perennials swapping ever-more ludicrous rhymes!  Yesterday he said “even if you don’t believe in god, you can still believe in magic.”  I think you’d love that as much as I do. 

When you died I was terrified I’d never be able to remember you as you were before illness, but I do, and I feel happy at these memories more than I feel sad.  I have this picture up in my bedroom, you and your funny, shy little shadow.  We had such good times you and I. 

20 comments:

  1. Oh Bearface, you've made me cry! Your mum would be so proud of you xx

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  2. I loved this. Of course it's terribly sad, but I mainly found it uplifting. I love that you hold such beautiful warm memories of her and that her life has lead you to make positive life-changing decisions for yourself. Losing a parent is so hard, I know that. It kind of never really goes away, but it does get easier. I can still smell my Dad's pinstripe suit, some 25 years on! I really feel honoured when people share this kind of thing. Parents are our foundations; our roots. It's important to honour them, I think. Much love, JP x

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    1. And I loved this comment! You've hit the nail on the head Jane, it's important to honour them xx

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  3. That is such a beautiful tribute to your mum. I am a mum and you have made me remember what being a mum is all about. I am very ill with severe depression at the moment and you have reminded me I still need to be mum for my kids no matter what is going on with me. Your mum sounds like she was a very special woman. X

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    1. Jen, I's so sorry you're suffering from depression; it's an horrific illness. One thing that has stuck with me was something I saw on the wall at my therapist's "No thought is final." It helps me to remember that. I am really honoured that my post had such an effect on you, good luck with everything xx

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  4. Oh bearface! This lovely letter made me tear up, and smile. So much of it is very much what I would want to say to my Dad but cannot articulate.

    xx

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  5. Oh, hon, what a lovely, lovely post. You should be very proud of yourself. x

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  6. This is exceptionally beautiful - Thank you for sharing your intimate reflections.

    This weekend I visited my mum in the nursing home she has just moved into after a long hospital stay ... she will not be there for long ... Your letter has prompted me to talk to her face-to-face about some family things that remain long-unsaid ... whilst I still can.

    Thank You for articulating your loss and for the inspiration of your resilience.

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    1. Thank you. I always feel a bit weird about blogging about mum, in case people think it's self-indulgent or worse, attention-seeking, but as Jane says in one of the comments about it's important to honour the parents we lose. I hope you and your mum can have some peaceful times together. xx

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  7. Bearface, this has touched me and I have damp eye. Like you, I was worried about remembering my mum as she was before dementia stole part of her every day. But somehow, it all sorts itself out. I'll never forget the unjust and cruel end she endured, but the memories which come to mind are all of my strong, funny, healthy mum. Thank you.

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  8. Thank you. I love that some people have great memories of their mothers and hope that my children will since I don't have. Oh no, it wasn't for lack of a mother it was lack of a mother who understood me, a mother who told me she loved me even when she disapproved of my behaviour, a mother that I could talk to about ... well anything, really. We "made up" the night before she died but I wish it could have been sooner.

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    1. Thank you for commenting Hazel, I'm glad you were able to be at peace with each other when she went xx

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  9. One of the most beautiful tributes to a mum I've read. I'm a bit teary-eyed but sending you hugs and hopes for brilliant memories to stay bright.

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    1. Thanks Val, the hugs were gratefully received :) xx

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  10. Your mum was a beautiful lady... And so are you. Much love xxxxxx

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  11. Thank Suzanne :) I kind of hoped that of all the people off Facebook to click the link, you would be one xxx

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