Friday, March 8, 2013
My mother would have been 89 next week (12th March). Before I left South Africa, Paul very kindly picked me up at the airport and drove me around, so I could take her ashes to the beach and sprinkle them over the sea- something she wanted. I made light of the day and tried not to think about it at all afterwards. Just another thing on my 'Leaving South Africa To Do' list that I could tick off.
Our cartage consignment will be arriving in April, I think and most of my personal boxes are filled with my mother's things. So many other things of hers had to be disposed of before we left SA and I still feel guilty about that. We sold or basically gave away so many things that she owned - basically a house full of clothing, books, records, furniture etc. etc. It makes me very sad when I think about it and I have this stupid expectation that she will phone me and ask where such and such a thing is and what have I done with it?
I have tried to hang on to some of the 'precious' things, things that have a value in monetary terms as well as sentimentally. I keep seeing her little home back in Kidbrooke in my mind's eye and her opening the wooden doors to welcome me when I came for visits. The smell of her hair, the way she hugged me, the smell of her home - always clean and neat and fresh. So many things I remember about her, like she is still here, living and breathing in my life. But she isn't, is she? I remember sitting with her before we moved back to Gauteng, after I'd packed her house up in two days, drinking wine with her and joking about how her life was going to be in Jo'burg and how much fun we were going to have. Two months later she was dead. It was so wrong, she was taken away from me too soon. I feel so guilty about that and I don't know why because I did nothing wrong. I suppose I'll always feel like that.
People always say when a loved one is close to death, that it is best if you can be with them at the end ... well it's NOT! There is nothing on this planet more stressful than watching your mother die, listening to those final wracking breaths and knowing that you can do nothing to stop it. She waited for me that day, she waited for me, so that I was with her when she went. Sometimes, I wish she hadn't.
She's been dead three years on the 10th July this year - so much has happened since 2010. Not a day goes by that I don’t want to phone her and tell her about something the kids did, or something I have done, or just general family news. I can’t believe how much I miss you mum.
Posted by The Carrot at 3:33 PM