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| Mum on a break Nairobi 1957 |
My mum would have been 80 years old today. I wanted to try not to feel sad but to celebrate the fact that I was lucky enough to know her.
It’s impossible to
convey how lovely she was or to try and encapsulate her life into a blog but I
wanted to mark today by explaining what she meant to me.
She was born into a
working class family in Shropshire in 1933. Because her mother was a nurse in
Wolverhampton she had the luxury of having her 3rd child in a
hospital, rather than at home.
Setting a pattern,
which followed her throughout her life mum, Elizabeth, was a very quiet,
undemanding baby. She’d be put out in pram for fresh air and sunshine and
because she was so quiet she was sometimes forgotten.
Her mum, Mollie was loving, funny, fiercely intelligent and a very hardworking nurse and mum was as devoted to her mother, as I was to mine.
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| Grandma Mollie 1930 |
Her mum, Mollie was loving, funny, fiercely intelligent and a very hardworking nurse and mum was as devoted to her mother, as I was to mine.
Mum trained to be a
nurse too and after qualifying she travelled by ship to Africa where
she worked in The African, Asian and European Hospitals.
Leaving Shropshire in
the early fifties as a single woman to travel to Africa was an extraordinary
event in those days. Her parents were terrified for their only daughter, as she "may as well have announced that she was going to the moon", but they knew that
once mum made up her mind, her quiet determination made further discussion
redundant.
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| Mum's parents on their way to a wedding 1957 |
Her mum took her to
the station for the train to London and lingered until mum’s train disappeared
before leaving the platform. That was the last time they saw each other. A few years
later when mum was still only in her early twenties, now married and pregnant
with my sister, Mollie suffered a brain hemorrhage and died.
Mum worked throughout
her pregnancies as her husband was regularly unfortunately out of work. She
would often do double shifts even whilst pregnant in the polio unit of the
hospital.
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| Nairobi 1958 |
My brother and sister
were born in Kenya where they all lived for 8 years then my parents travelled back to her husband’s home country
of Ireland where I was born.
My sister was
chronically ill with Asthma to a very severe degree throughout her childhood
and into her early twenties and I knew how to phone an ambulance from a very
young age.
My brother was usually the
picture of health. He was over 6 feet tall, played rugby and cricket and in the summer tanned like a surfer. The symptoms of his terminal heart
condition were initially missed. Mum however remained concerned and through her persistence eventually he was
diagnosed.
On Christmas day 1978,
my beautiful brother, who was going to become a classical guitarist, died. It was 4am and I was at home sleeping and mum was sitting with him. His breathing was becoming more
difficult as his lungs were filling with blood.
He opened his eyes and asked her if he could be 'greedy' and have some more iced water.
He opened his eyes and asked her if he could be 'greedy' and have some more iced water.
As she walked back
with the jug of iced water, to the curtains surrounding his bed, she heard the
rasping rattle as the breath left his body.
She opened the
curtains and the nurse who arrived beside her began to cry.
Michael was 17 years
old.
Mum was able to have two weeks off. Then went back to work as a health visitor. Part of her job was visiting mums at home with new babies. I often wonder how hard this must have been for her having just lost her own child. She never complained.
Mum was able to have two weeks off. Then went back to work as a health visitor. Part of her job was visiting mums at home with new babies. I often wonder how hard this must have been for her having just lost her own child. She never complained.
How she found the
strength to support me and my sister through the weeks and months that
followed, alone, I’ll never know.
But she did.
She was simply
remarkable, made of gentle granite with no bitterness or cruelty, or anger.
She got me through and
at 19 I went to drama school in London and moved back home in 1992. I started going out with Phil who I’d known for years and after 6 weeks discovered I
was pregnant with Lizzy.
Mum took it completely
in her stride. She didn’t judge anyone and firmly believed that a family is
what you find behind a front door. Which made her a great Health Visitor. Phil and I decided to move in together
to see how it all worked out and it did. Mum gave me away at our wedding with
Lizzy as a bridesmaid.
Mum carried on working
until the age of 65 and at 68 was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.
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| Lizzy and Emily 2000 |
She had been so
wonderful with her grandchildren. She played with them patiently, baking cakes
and knitting and doing everything beautifully as ever.
Gentle, kind and
loving until the end.
She had Alzheimer’s
for a decade and I was able to repay some of my huge debt of love and gratitude
in this time. It wasn’t enough it would never have been enough
She was typically stoic
and funny after the diagnosis came she said “They say I have Alzheimer’s Nicky, but I
don’t have to believe them if I don’t want to, do I?”.
After 5 years of
caring for her at home for the last two years with the help of a home care
provider, her condition deteriorated so I found her a nursing home.
I wanted to bring her
to live with us but this was impossible. Emily's learning disability meant that she couldn't cope with the change in her grandma that Alzheimer's brings. Both conditions require very high levels of care.
It was in this nursing
home on the 5th of December 2011 that she died. She’d had a stroke and
aspirated some blood from biting her tongue. This led to pneumonia.
Years before she’d
talked of the gentle end that pneumonia brings to the elderly. From her nursing
days she called it “The old man’s friend”
She’d been resolute
even with advanced Alzheimer’s that she would have the flu jab but not the one
that combined with pneumonia. She’d fix me with her beautiful blue eyes and say
“No thank you”
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| Mum in her garden 1993 |
As the end stage
advanced during her final year she lost almost all of her speech. Except one
word.
The hallucinations,
which had understandably been so frightening to her earlier in her condition,
transformed in the end into a comfort, she would look past me and smiling in
recognition, she’d say my brother’s name.
I’d been with her
everyday for the ten days that she lived after the stroke. I’d gone home for a
shower and something to eat and was leaving when they phoned and told me she’d
died.
I had kissed her
before I left and repeated the words, which after a decade had become a mantra.
“I love you mum, you were the best mum in the world,”
I also added the words which confirmed her belief in God and offered as comfort to her from my atheism. “You’ve worked so hard for so long. You’ve done enough now, go and be with Michael. He’s waiting for you.”
I also added the words which confirmed her belief in God and offered as comfort to her from my atheism. “You’ve worked so hard for so long. You’ve done enough now, go and be with Michael. He’s waiting for you.”
Elizabeth, my mum, my
friend, and my strength, taught me how to love and also taught me that love does
not end when life does.
It stays with you
forever.
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| Me as a blackbird Chester 1971 |
