On the Anniversary of my Mother’s Birth

Mum & 6I noticed the date and realised that today would have been my mother’s birthday, if she was still alive to have birthdays. The realisation caused me to pause, to breathe and to allow myself a little bit of space to remember her.

I’ve written about her in my latest book How To Stay Married and how instrumental her impending death was on my marriage. I honour her in my Seven Tips for a Happy Marriage (and one from my mum.) And today, on the anniversary of her birthday I’d like to share with you just a snippet from How To Stay Married. How fitting that this extract is from the chapter called Heaven.

I wake the next morning with a very strong sense of my mother. After she died I had a dream. Our country was under attack. Air-borne missiles filled with toxic chemicals were heading our way. It was clear we would all be killed. Though our government had sent missiles to intercept the threats there was no guarantee we wouldn’t be contaminated. I was part of a task force sent to secure a high-rise building. Our mission was to make it airtight so people could shelter there, safe from the chemicals. As we were making final preparations I was told our enemies had captured my mother and were holding her hostage in the basement of that very building. We were ordered to leave or else they would kill her. I rushed to rescue my mother and free her from the evil clutches of these doomsday merchants. Clearly I’ve watched too many action hero films. However, when I eventually found her she was free, happily walking in a park by the water. The sun was shining, children played. My mother was safe, the danger was gone.

When my mother was ill and first told me that all the months of chemotherapy she’d endured hadn’t made the slightest difference, that none of the chemical weapons they’d used on her had worked, I was devastated. Hearing she had, at most, six months to live left me incapacitated, only good for crying.

A long-held dream of my mother’s had been to see the colours and beauty of the wild flowers of Western Australia in the spring. She’d seen them on television and in magazines, but wanted to see the spectacle for herself. What really caused my heart to ache was the fact that, once the prognosis came through, her dream would never come true. But one day I had a growing realisation. Who’s to say she won’t? Who’s to say that she won’t be a part of those wild flowers? Who’s to say she won’t be in the warmth that causes them to blossom, in the breeze that blows over them, the rain that falls on them? Who’s to say she won’t be in the very soil that nurtures them? 

Her life was abundant and blessed, a cornucopia of children, grand-children, friends, gardens, creativity, good works and the church. Hers was a life filled with learning, loving and informed conversations always touched with her wicked sense of humour. A life well lived and well loved. Why would anything change now?

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