The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]

I’ve written a lot about this over the bast decade.

From what happened … to how it messed with me … right thought to how it changed how I do things and look at things.

And while all those things are still there … a decade later the feelings are far less connected to darkness and far more about the light.

I have to say, I am so relieved.

Mum was a wonderful human.
Full of compassion and curiosity.
Driven by a real sense of respect and justice for all.

For a very gentle, quiet woman, she was a force that you felt through her actions, her choices, her emotions and – when necessary – her words.

But most of all, I think of Mum as an incredibly dignified person and nothing reflects this more than how she prepared for what she feared most.

You see Mum was going into hospital for a heart valve operation.

It was a pretty common procedure, but at 83, she was aware things could happen.

She’d already delayed the operation by a few months to ensure I could be with Jill when Otis was born – another example of her selflessness – but even though things had initially gone well, sadly the condition of her heart was far worse than expected and within an hour of coming out of theatre, it ruptured and Mum died.

I’m so, so grateful I was with her and that she knew that.

She’d told me a few months before that her greatest fear was that she may die alone – like her sister-in-law had tragically experienced.

And while I would give anything to have her back, knowing I was there – as I was with Dad – has definitely helped me deal with the loss.

But it’s what happened after she passed that reaffirmed one of her greatest traits.

Her dignity.

Something she valued very much. Even in death.

You see, when she had died, we were going through some draws back at her house. In there, I found a book she’d been compiling featuring all the account numbers associated with her, all the contact information of her friends, and a compilation of stories and articles that she wanted me to see or know if the worst happened.

To do that both blows me away and breaks my heart …

Blows me away for the incredible generosity of wanting to ensure in my darkest hour, I am not being further impacted by the complication of trying to find or access information.

Breaks my heart because not only did it represent her acknowledging the potential of her death, but that she did it alone.

I don’t know how she felt doing this, I just hope that any emotional struggle she felt was softened by knowing she was doing something that was important to her. Important because I – as her only son – was her world.

She never left me in doubt of that. Ever. Even when we had little disagreements over the years …
Because the undeniable fact was she loved me and I loved her.

And I still do.

I’m so grateful and honoured she was my Mum.

Which is why, as much as today is a connected to something deeply sad in my life – she’d be very happy to know, the feelings I have today are far more associated with love than tragedy.

For all she did.
For all she was.
For all she continues to be in my life.

I love and miss you so much Mum.

Give Dad a big kiss from me.

Rx