My mum

If I have any creativity at all I got it from my mother. She used to make dolls and clowns on the Singer sowing machine. Every one wanted to buy one. She gave most of them away, because she was too generous.

She also used to turn our scooters and bikes into prize winning creations with coloured cellophane and tape. She turned my scooter into a telephone booth, and Colin’s bike into a Giraffe. there was a hat she turned into a lighthouse. I won a John  Sands car game at primary school as a result.

My mum was proud of my running. I remember once I went in a 800m running race. I was late to the start, I hadn’t even got my tracksuit off.

Mum was talking to another parent in the crowd. She later told this story to me and dad.

‘Oh, your son missed the start,” the lady mum was chatting to said. “That’s a shame.”

I took off after the other athletes who had a big start on me.

“He’s catching up,” says the lady to mum.

At half way the leaders were still way ahead. I started to pick them off on the back straight 0f the second lap.

“Ooh, he’s coming third.”

“Yes, he is” says my mum all cool, calm and collected.

“Now he’s second.”

The last person to catch was Richard White.  I had him in my sight and was mowing him down, but it would be touch and go.

“He’s going to win!” she said as I just pipped Richard White on the line.

You could sense my mother’s pride as she related this story.

My mum did everything for me and I took her for granted. Once she went all the way to see the principal of the high school to argue that I should get a prize for modern history. I had topped my course in first semester, but they decided to only give prizes for end of year marks.  I finished up getting a book prize.

This was quite something, because I realise now that my mum was an extremely shy person. I get that shyness from her.  Going to the principal was a big deal, it took a lot of guts for her as a shy person.

My mum liked Shirley Temple, and she and her friends used to imagine they were orphans. She liked Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers and had a crush on  Paul Newman. She liked Judy Garland, the Wizard of Oz. Her taste in more contemporary music was Abba and Boy George, artists with nice voices. She didn’t understand my like of guitar heroes such as Mark Knopfler from Dire Straits.

Mum used to work as a punch card operator at Caltex. Like the forerunner of a computer.  Later on she tried to find work as a typist, but she had no luck. Apparently her little finger was too short to type fast enough.

Once when I was at high school I saw my mum walking up Kiora Road hill, wheeling her shopping trolley behind. As soon as I saw her my heart  jumped, that familiar sense of recognition, a feeling of joy, of comfort, of pride that, that is  your mum, someone you trust more than anyone in the world. I realise now that feeling was love.   I wheeled that shopping home for her at peace with the world.

My mum was a listener, she had time to listen to everyone. Friends and relatives would often ring her just to talk to her. She used to comfort them by being so able to listen. Everyone loved Grace.

My mum’s favourite spot in the house was the back verandah. She’d sit out there and drink  coffee, mittens the cat would curl up in her lap. It was a lovely place to sit in the autumn sun.

My mum was always thinking of eveyone but herself. When my grandparents were getting old, mum and dad and I would go over to Alice Street, Sans Souci to clean up. Dad did the lawns and mum weeded the gardens. They swept up the paths into piles of leaves and grass clippings. And I was tasked to take them down to the heap in the backyard. Sometimes dad would light the heap and it would burn.

It was around this time that mum noticed a lump in her breast, she didn’t tell anyone, and put off seeing a doctor about it. She was too busy helping everyone else.

When Papa passed away in Calvary Hospital Mum was there holding his hand. She told me that he passed peacefully, and my mum said she wasn’t scared of dieing. My mother’s death was anything but peaceful, it was horrible, and it was something such a wonderful person didn’t deserve to go through. Life is anything but fair.

The day I broke 2 minutes for eight hundred metres, my mum decided we should go out for a meal to celebrate. So Mum and Dad and I went to a pancake resturant at Caringbah. The restuarant is no longer there. I wish I could remember more of those days.

When I had my knee arthroscopy at Loungeville Private Hospital my mum and dad came all the way with me. I remember mum was puffed walking up a slightly steep hill.  It was not longer after this she got diagnosed with secondary cancer.

When I left for Mitchell College of Advanced Education at Bathurst to study mature age, my mother cried when I went to get into the car. She was so happy for me, she new I wasn’t happy in my job as an insurance clerk, and to study Environment Science was a huge opportunity. That was 1986 and Mum had only one year to live. She has a masectomy in 1983.  

When I was on leave from college, I remember sitting at home in the living room. Mum went to get up too quickly from the  arm chair. She collapsed onto the ground.

I didn’t know what to do.

I stood over her and asked her “Are you allright?”

I could’ve have helped her up off the ground, but I didn’t know what to do. I froze.

Eventually she came around and stood up.

“I’m allright,”  she said.

The cancer had spread to her brain.

I remember clearly the last time I got to say goodbye to my mother. We were sitting in the courtyard of the hospital.

 Wanting goodbyes

 Sitting in a courtyard garden

at Prince of Wales Hospital, sheltered from the biting December sun,

you talked with my father and I until visiting hours had ended.

I kissed you once on the cheek, and waved goodbye

it was the last time, you remembered my name.

My mother passed away in Prince of Wales Hospital the day Mike Whitney held out Richard Hadlee in a over to eke out a drawn test.

I’m not sure if I deserved a mother like her. And I’m not sure if there is a heaven,  if I’ll get to see her there. I wonder if she would forgive me for taking her for granted. Maybe she deserves to be in a place where she gets shown all the love she deserves. Where people clean up their rooms, and wring out their face washer and hangs them on the hand rail after a shower.