As mother/daughter relationships go we had ups and downs. But over the years I began to focus on her many attributes: Especially her devotion to family.
As children growing up on the mines, things were tough financially but she had a gift for home-making. She could turn basic ingredients into comfort foods which were to die for.
Our simple little house was scrubbed and polished ‘til it shone and she would squirrel away money and buy bits of furnishing to make our home a place of love, comfort and warmth.
Bed times were the best especially in the winters when she would put hot-water bottles into our beds. Then all tucked in and warm she loved to read us stories.
I particularly remember our fortnightly visits to the library by bus: the joy of choosing our own books and stopping off at the cafe afterwards to buy our sweets. What a treat!
She was endlessly cooking, and cleaning, baking and sewing.
This she did for her children, grandchildren and later even her great-grandchildren.
In my adult years I was to discover her absolute devotion, as she nursed both my dad and later my step-dad through cancer. Her efforts were nothing short of heroic.
She then went on to use this experience to bring love and comfort to others who were going through the same trauma.
Unfortunately she was bed-ridden for last three years of her life.
When I flew up to Johannesburg to move her from her retirement home to hospice, the nurses who had cared for her just broke down as we packed up her things for the move.
Brushing away their tears they told me how much they loved her and how much they were going to miss her.
Always a lover of stories she had listened to them as they shared their lives with her.
They’d laughed together and cried together over boxes of chocolates which she was addicted to.
Not always able to remember their names she referred to all of them as “My Darling” This from my mother who spent most of her life in the Apartheid era!
They also told me how she had introduced them to the love of reading by carefully selecting books from her collection which she thought they would enjoy.
“A life without books is no life at all.” This was how they would remember her.
Whilst in hospice she again garnered the devotion of the staff who attended her.
“Your mother is such a beautiful lady” they would tell me. “She never complains and she is always so kind. Everybody loves her.”
Spending her last week at her bedside I found myself thinking about the circle of life and more importantly the circle of love. How important little acts of kindness are. How they bloom and grow and come back to us in bouquets.
And as I contemplated death I found myself contemplating life: we are brought into this world empty handed and we go out empty handed.
The only thing that really counts is how much love surrounds us.
alison41
townsend57
patchworkpost 