Taking a longer view
My mother’s health is failing. Finally, after several years of painful struggle and wishing that things could be different – I’ve not quite lost sight of the woman who was content in her domain and saw the purpose in carrying on – my mother’s light is fading.
In watching this long-drawn out process, taking a longer view, many emotions surface. And though I don’t know on any given day which will be uppermost, and which will lie dormant and sabotage me as I sleep, I know that this period of waiting will simply have to be endured, as all painful things are.
Certainly, there is regret, and a patina of peculiar relief, as we both accept the inevitable: I can’t make things better in the way she would like them to be: herself able and competent, living in France, her son alive, well, and, (in the dream she would have liked) living a happy life… I can’t put back the clock, and I’m not sure, even if I could, that it would be a wise course. Would all the things that have happened in the intervening five or so years have to happen again? I’m not sure we could cope with that.
There is comfort, as there always is, in knowing we have succeeded in coming this far together, in peace, and finally in a clearer understanding.
As a kid and a young adult, I often felt my parents to be remote, living by adult rules and logic to which I was not, nor expected to be, privy any time soon. Now, since I see Mum most days and have a hand in keeping her affairs in order, I have, I think, proved my claim to be as content, happy and competent in my own life as most of us are: my mother can relax now, knowing that, although I’ll never reach her heights of scholarship or astonishing grasp of detail, there is enough of her in me to ensure that I’ll be okay. Different, but okay.
Thanks for reading.
Please share:
October 27, 2020 @ 2:24 am
You are such a lovely writer my dear Fran. You are always able to place each person within your shoes as they feel the pain so deep within yourself that reaches to the depths of each reader’s own soul.
What a beautiful tribute.
October 27, 2020 @ 3:11 pm
Dear Sandy,
What a lovely surprise to log in and find your comments waiting for me. Thank you. :-))) You give me heart on this blustery, autumnal day. With regard to my nearest relations, I find that my feelings are changing all the time, mellowing as the days and years pass. It’s good when we can be gentle with each other; and I find that, in getting to know my mother better, there is so much to rejoice in. ((xxx))
October 31, 2020 @ 9:14 pm
Oh Fran, it’s been three weeks since you wrote this beautiful blog. I wonder if you are still in the same situation. Your last comment was four days ago, so it seems you are finding your peace with your mum. I hope the coming time will give you cause for happiness as well as the sorrow that will inevitably result when she goes.
November 1, 2020 @ 12:38 pm
Dearest Val,
Yes, we are in the same situation; and yet it is subtly different again: more cheerful, as we laugh over our mutual failings and foibles. As my Mum now has so little energy, she can’t much be bothered with indignation or crossness, so we tend to be more accepting of each other, and giggle instead. It’s wonderful, as we begin to enjoy things more in a shrinking field of activities. It’s a curious paradox – I think that’s the word – that proves we can get happier as we have less and less to worry about. Thank you for visiting. I’ll get back to writing more regular blogs soon. Much love!