A year ago we travelled to Adelaide to farewell Rich’s mum. It was an intensely quiet funeral. No notices in the paper. Not the way we would have wanted it, but there it is.
Now, this May, just over a year on, we farewell my mum. Suddenly, but not unexpected. Both our mums slipped quietly away, on their own terms, without family by their bedsides.
Having lost both our dads 13 years ago, we have now said farewell to that generation. We are on our own, and me feeling even more so having ‘forgotten’ to have children.
My mum’s death has left me feeling a little adrift. With all that has been going on in our lives, with the stalling of our build due to finances and family ‘issues’, with concerns at work, and ongoing health problems, it is probably no wonder I am left feeling a little ‘rudderless’.
Mum had long since stopped being a source of direct support, emotionally, financially or practicably. Her age and physical limitations had meant her world had shrunk to a single room, and while the nursing home staff were (and are) an amazing bunch of people, mum’s days had been reduced to the routine of waking, eating, washing and sitting, then eating again before sleeping at sundown. So long gone were the days of an unplanned Sunday evening meal together, a jar (or three) of jam or a couple of cakes to put in the freezer…
But the loss of my last parent has impacted on me more profoundly.
Mum’s was a life of giving. She gave endlessly to us kids; the practicalities of food, shelter, clothing, even long after we left home. She gave endlessly to her community; visiting sick neighbours with food, taking care of kids when parents were unable to, taking part in meals on wheels, mothers clubs and school committees. And she gave 40 years of volunteering to Red Cross; secretary of her local unit for many years and coordinating the local mobile blood bank well into her eighties.
Reflecting on mum’s life of giving to her community, leaves me wondering about my own life’s ‘achievements’ and my distinct lack of belonging to a ‘community’. Even if I start tomorrow, it’s unlikely I will live long enough to clock up 40 years on anything.
