My mom and I weren’t close. That changed in my early 20’s when I spent 6 months on a travel visa in London, England. With no significant time zone difference between Cape Town, South Africa and London, we managed to call each other regularly. But it was expensive. We had little time to say a lot. Our conversations quickly became ones of quality. We also wrote letters (Mom would use Aerograms – Google that one!) which also became richly heartfelt. Twenty-five years later, our relationship has grown into a deeply special bond, and I still have those cherished letters, secretly stored.
For those who have not yet met my mom, who is also known as the Queen (she will only drink her tea or coffee in fine English china), she is an interesting character to say the least. She adored my dad, and he her. Over three decades and three continents, they had a fulfilling marriage. After she became a window, she soothed her broken heart with travel (which included sleeping on airport benches waiting for standby flights), church responsibilities, baking, doting on her only granddaughter and not forgetting her beloved pets as well as those she was ‘forced’ to adopt – one from each her two world-wandering daughters. In line with her go-getter nature, at 74 years of age, she immigrated to New Mexico, USA, to be closer to me and my older sister in Vancouver, Canada. Before her arrival, she insisted she continue to live alone in her own apartment. She was happy as she filled it with all the antiques her and my dad collected while living in on three continents.
Four years later, she was diagnosed with an aggressive tongue cancer. Gratefully, she survived. Not even two years passed, and she suffered a cerebellum stroke (balance and coordination affected). Six months prior to the stroke, back spasm leading to back pain led to changes in our activities we always enjoyed. But we adapted. I accepted that my mom was beginning to show signs of aging, and the natural course was for me to wean off doing so much together. My two passions – words and tea – began to fill more of my time. Starting and growing a tea business has in turn nurtured me through the significant changes we were experiencing individually and in our relationship. Logistical changes were obvious, yet loss was subtle, and grief wasn’t even thought of let alone mentioned. It was as if we had taken the first step off the stage of our grand lives and headed down into the audience of watching others live their lives in full and vibrant motion.
Two years into my mom’s stroke, she continued to live alone. There were days when I came to see her, she would greet me with an eager anxiety stating, “I really thought today was the day. I didn’t feel right, but after doing…” or “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here! I think it’s my time!”. I would reassure her, and soon she became distracted and forgot any possibility of her departure. Several years later, after many more of these instances, I would say, “But Mom, isn’t this like the upteenth time you feel you are departing?”. She’d laugh. I’d smile. Over time, the truth pushed through; her encroaching mortality would waft around us like fluffy dandelion seeds, and settle into the soil of our subconsciousness, for future conversations to irrigate and germinate those seeds into anticipatory grief.
Through all the changes, losses and adaptations, our bond is unchanged; however, our roles have. I am now the parent to my dear mother. This was something I had not anticipated.
Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life. ~ Anne Roiphe