Happy Birthday Mum. (My Experience Of Bereavement)

Member Name: QueenElf

Product:	My Experience Of Bereavement
Date:	31/10/05 (1171 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: A chance to say thank you.

Disadvantages: There is always sadness

Today is the anniversary of my late mother’s birthday; she would have been 83 years old today but she died on the 27th May 2003 of pneumonia following two massive strokes that first robbed her of her movement and finally robbed her of her speech. She had been ill for a long time before her first stroke, life had been hard on her and after my dad died (again from a stroke), in 1996, she seemed to dwindle from the tough matriarch she always had been to a bent and fragile old lady. I’d like to share a part of her life (and death) with you, because although I always feel so sad on this day, I also celebrate her life and the many wonderful things she did with that life.

She was born in 1921, one of three girls, but ill health meant she could never attend school but that never daunted her, she learnt to read from the family bible and with a little help from her sisters she soon educated herself to a reasonable standard. Life was tough in those days; my grandfather came back from the 1st World War with a shrapnel wound that eventually moved to his heart, leaving my Grandmother a widow with three young girls to care for and no pension. The only resource left then was to “go on the parish”, a meagre handout to families with no male relative to care for them. Unfortunately the payment was made on the same day and all the families would rush to queue for whatever food their pitiful allowance would stretch to. Many were the stories I learnt from my mother and I have them all preserved in my writings.

It may sound unbelievable in this day and age, but whole families would live on scraps of meat from the butchers, padded out with bruised vegetables that were cheap, bread that was going stale would make puddings and occasionally a bit of fruit from a sympathetic greengrocer would be a rare treat. After the rent was paid and food was bought there was little left for heating, so my mum and her sisters would scrounge coal from the railway embankments. Most of the shopping was left to my mother, then a thin little girl of eight years old. My grandmother could not cope with the harsh realties of life, so my mother, who could not attend school, used to join the queues every week, despite her health being poor.

Mum went into service at just fifteen years old, working as a maid to two old ladies in a town about an hour’s journey from her family. Most of her wages were sent home to her mother while her younger sister stayed in school and her elder sister got married and moved away. I can’t imagine how lonely she must have felt, mum never did reveal any of her emotions to me until she was dying. To her, the stories meant that her family should never forget the hardships following the folly of wars.

At seventeen she met her first boyfriend and they were married within a few months, a new war was then on the horizon and time was short. She followed her new husband to his training grounds in Devon, where her first boy was born. Sadly he only lived six months, the conditions were appalling and she passed her asthma to her son. Her second child, a girl, died at nine months old from bronchitis. By now she was expecting her third child and although he lived, his father died in the battle of the Somme. Distraught she returned home to live with her mother, and it was back in her hometown that she met my father. My half-brother survived, although he has always suffered from acute bronchitis and asthma. Four children followed, I’m the middle one of three.

Life was still hard; the economy took a long while to pick up after the 2nd world War and my father was still helping to support my grandmother. We didn’t have much money, but our home was always full of laughter and all five of us had a head start in life as mum taught us all to read and write before we went to school. I don’t think she ever really felt she was good enough as she didn’t have any proper schooling, but she put four of her children through grammar school, my elder brother was always too ill to complete his schooling. We had our ups and downs like any family, dad was a compulsive gambler and money was always a problem. Still, we got by, even though I will never really know how mum managed our grammar school uniforms.

Time passed by, three of my siblings went on to University gaining an impressive array of scholastic achievements. I left school at sixteen with seven O’levels, and married at nineteen, my daughter was born when I was twenty-one and my marriage failed a year later. I went back to work while mum looked after my daughter and passed on her love of knowledge to my daughter. Between us we both had my daughter reading well above her age throughout school, so it came as no surprise when she passed all her GCSE’s with top grades. She went on to University gaining a 1st class honours degree in English, one of the toughest subjects to get a 1st in. Mum was really proud, now her walls were plastered with copies of degrees from BA’s, Ma’s to a PHD.

My father had been made redundant from our local steelworks in his late fifties but found a job as a security guard within a week, a job he continued to do until he was seventy years old. By now mum had gone through a series of operations, her one kidney was removed, as it was diseased beyond repair. Her heart was never strong and at sixty she was put on heart tablets. Dad seemed invincible but a heart attack proved this wrong at the age of 71 and now he had to slow down. Around this time mum was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and I became a part-time carer for both her and dad. Still, mum continued to keep the house spotlessly clean, although I had to help her in and out of the bath, she was now riddled with arthritis as well as all her other problems.

Dad had a stroke on the 28th December 1994 and was in hospital for five months, he lost his speech and most of his mobility so it was with the deepest of regrets that we had to put him in a nursing home. I had no partner so I had to carry on working full-time, I couldn’t care for both my parents. The hardship of visiting him ever single night took its toll on both mum, and me when he died in February 1996 it was a blessed release for us all. Now, more than ever my mother needed me, but she was still stubborn as hell and it wasn’t until 2001 that she eventually came to live with me. By now she needed constant attention, her mind wandered and the Parkinson’s problem was so acute that she had to have help to eat. But still there were days when her formidable willpower kept me on the go.

My family did rally around as much as possible, mostly my younger sister and brother who lived away. I had brief respites when they stayed, a chance to carry on my hobbies (I had given up work by then). Despite several minor strokes, mum still was fairly clear headed, I couldn’t believe how she managed to carry on when she had so many illnesses, but she still enjoyed her visits from her family and I wrote all her letters for her, carrying on conversations that many a younger women would find difficult. She loved following my younger brother’s career as a History professor and a researcher into political history. Most of all she loved the visits from my daughter, who was living and working in London. When my daughter announced in early 2002 that she was getting married in June 2003, my mum was delighted. We made so many plans to include mum in the wedding arrangements and a venue was arranged; now all we had to do was to run around finding a wedding dresses, bridesmaid dresses and hire morning suits for the men.

A Daughter’s wedding day is the proudest moment of a mother’s life and I was looking forward to helping my daughter with the arrangements, but all that changed on an early morning in the beginning of October 2002. I got mum out of bed, gave her a light breakfast before the official county carer came to help me give her the normal bath. Mum said she felt a bit dizzy and her face went white. I didn’t hesitate; I called our doctor who advised calling an ambulance. They eventually took her into hospital with a diagnosis of an inner ear infection; we waited in casualty for ten hours before they found her a bed. I ranted at the doctors who totally ignored me; they were keeping her in for “observation” only. In vain I told them of her history of minor strokes and was sent home to “cool off”.

I arrived at 9am the following morning to find mum in a deep coma, still they would not admit she had suffered a stroke. It took me hours of nagging before a senior doctor came to see her and validated my opinion that she had suffered a stroke. She was in a critical condition for two weeks and only opened her eyes briefly on her birthday to acknowledge the presence of my daughter and myself. The next six months were a nightmare, mum could not swallow and she had an operation to feed her through a tube in her stomach. There were so many crisis points that I eventually gave up calling my family, mum was a fighter and I thought she would eventually rally round. Gone were my dreams of helping with my daughter’s wedding, I did take a few days off to look at wedding dresses with her, but her final choice was made in January 2003. Mum had rallied around a little so we got the ward to arrange a private viewing for mum to see my daughter in her wedding dress, we both knew she would not survive to the wedding day.

I can still see that look on mum’s face when my daughter walked in the ward, the years fell away and she looked like the bride who never had her own wedding dress. For once she was totally aware as she said to my daughter” You look like a princess”. That was the final time when mum was fully herself. Slowly she went downhill until the consultant told me they could do no more. I begged to take her home with me so she could spend her final weeks in peace but my family over-ruled me, I was worn out, physically and mentally, so mum was put into a nursing home against my will.

She fought, right up until April 2003 when she had her second stroke, which robbed her of all dignity, now there was nothing left of mum but an empty shell. I managed to get the family to agree to no resuscitation and she finally died in arms on 27th May 2003. I won’t go into any more, even now it’s still painful, but on my daughter’s wedding day, just one month after mum’s ashes were interred, I felt her there beside me. I had made my daughter a special present, a scrapbook of our family through the generations from my own grandmother, my mother, myself as a baby, my daughter as a baby, and left room for the generations to come. I wanted to speak at the wedding, but was worried I would upset the day; in the end I just made a small speech, I welcomed my new son-in-law into the family, I said that there were two special people who could not be there in body but were there in soul, My mother and my father.

I’ve been up and down all evening, trying to put the finishing touches to my review, but interrupted by the children calling for “trick or treat”. I could have pulled the curtains, turned off the light, ignored the knocking at the door, but mum would never have done this. She loved children; I think in later years she was proud that she shared a birthday on a day when children had fun. Children were her life, she didn’t drink or smoke, never went out at all, except for my daughter’s twenty-first birthday when she entered a restaurant for the first and last time in her life. She lived for and through her children they validated her life.

So what can I say on this, the anniversary of such a special women? I may shed a few tears tonight, but they are not all sad, I remember her as she was, trying to make the best out of practically nothing. Mum, you gave so much, you taught us right from wrong, you gave us pride in ourselves but you also taught us humility, to say, “Yes, I am wrong”, or to stick to our principles. You made us better, stronger people, you taught us love. Now you have a great-grandson, named for dad, he’s already a bright boy at just six months old and sometimes I can you in him as he fights to get his own way.

I’ve written a lot of poetry to my parents, I’ve had some published, but I don’t want to end on a sad note, “Happy Birthday Mum”, wherever you are.

You gave me life you gave me love
Inspired my hopes and dreams
Taught me how to read and write
To learn what knowledge means
You were the light that kindled fire
Beckoned with the sight
I knew from early childhood that
I would always want to write
My stories all were wrote for you
I longed to let you know
That all I wanted was your blessing
So I could learn and grow.

Now I find it rather strange
After all this time
Since your death I’ve written more
A lot of it in rhyme
The child that lives inside of me
Still awaits your praise
I guess I’ll always write for you
Until my dying days
I painted you a picture once
You hung it on the wall
Little did you know right then
I felt like ten feet tall.

I remembered all your stories mum
I kept them in my heart
Knowing you would leave some day
That we had to part
Now that I am older my memory is poor
And I struggle to recall
For without your own life history
There is nothing left at all
I need to write your stories down
So generations feel
That in your strength of spirit
You still are very real.

That rich legacy you left behind
Out of love and care
Rarely comes in one lifetime
Are you still aware?
I like to think your spirit lives
Oh you’d be so glad
Of the achievements of your family
That came from you and dad
Can you see your great-grandson?
He’s already very bright
And sometimes when I look at him
It’s you that’s in my sight.

Not one of us have failed you mum
You taught us how to live
To give respect when it was due
And when we should forgive
Every hardship that you faced
Each and every pain
Was washed away by our own tears
Just like a summer rain
Thanks for just being you
Teaching right from wrong
And thank you for our loving home
A place we could belong

Copyright: Lisa Fuller October 2005.

Summary: Bereavement isn't always sad.