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Memories of Mum

December 10th 2007 07:03

Mum and Dad - when young

We were all young once, even our parents. My first memory of being with my Mum and Dad on a holiday was down at Meelup in WA. I don't know if I've got the spelling right but we were camping out. There was a tent, green with mosquito netting and camp stretchers - beds of canvas and wooden cross legged support. Scouting around and securing the camp was my dog, Smudge. Smudge was a Cocker Spaniel very attached to me and as faithful a friend that young boy ever had.

One day we went fishing. Smudge went down by the edge of the rocks where an octopus was making its way along the border with the ocean. The poor little animal was not not doing any harm, but we being indoctrinated my May Gibbs stories saw him as the villain and threw rocks at him. I'm not sure if we hit him, but he got the point and disappeared into the depths, unwelcome and returning to his realm. Soon after I caught my first fish. I can't say it was the act of a master of the art. I think the poor beast drowned in frustration at not getting away. My catch was a John Dory, quite edible except that we left it out in the sun too long and it dried up to leather-like and inedible material. The time was filled with the smell of gums and eucalyptus. I was an explorer, lost in a land of new horizons, but without fear or danger. Instead there was a sense of wonder and sharing. I was three.

Over the years there were many times of both togetherness and being apart. My father was our rock -- for me my mother and my brother and sisters. My mother was the energy, the dynamo that fuelled our home with warmth and nourishment. Dad had his shed. With Mum he was often adding to the house. A sleep out, a verandah or patio, a fish pond and always bird cages. There was always a menagerie. Birds usually included finches, budgies and canaries with the occasional parrot and sometimes even a ground bird or too. Of the unfeathered animals there were always dogs, cats with occasional guinea pigs. The routine was always the same with a found animal. We would take it home and show it to Mum first. She would fall in love with it and put the pressure on Dad for a new inclusion to the household. Then it would be up to Dad to build or modify one of the enclosures. Of course if Mum was in a hurry, she would do it herself.

One time Mum started to feed the Kookas (Kookaburras to the uninitiated). She would place small pieces of meat in a row along the wall of the verandah. One of the Kookas would cock his head and watch what she was doing. After a while a number of the jackasses would line up on the telegraph wire and watch the show. Then one would swoop in grab a piece of meat and off again. After a while they got closer and closer literally eating out of her hand. One time one of them got a bit carried away and grabbed a bit of Mum's hand as well. At which time she abused him - called him a savage beast. One day during the feeding process one of the Kookas brought his own lunch. It was a half dead snake. The Kooka was shaking and shaking the snake to stop it wriggling. Then it would fly up into the air and drop the snake from a height. Down would come the snake with a terrific wallop closely followed by the Kooka sweeping it up for another chew. After a while the snake stopped wriggling. At this stage the Kooka decided to eat the snake, which was quite an undertaking being as the snake was twice as long and as the bird. Still it all went down although I do think that if the snake had waken up down below then things might have been awkward for the Kooka. Eventually he flew away although he did look a little heavy for the take off. Never underestimate the powers of Mother Nature. She continues to expound.

Then there was the time that Mum was sick and the household fell under the stewardship of Aunty Nell. A fierce woman of very determined opinions we were set to rights in no uncertain fashion. It was touch and go there for a while, but the operation was a success. Better still the patient survived. Then she returned and the household shook itself out and returned to normal.

After I finished school, Mum and Dad went east while I stayed in WA. Then they went to Darwin and I went to stay there for about a year. That was a good time in that we were able to get some of the family roots back together again. But it wasn't for long. Later after many a hiatus we all congregated together back in WA at least for a while. There were various comings and goings but always the sense on constancy that Mum and Dad were there - our bulwark - our rampart against turmoil - our final respite in the time of need.

Dad and Mum together in retirement years kept their interests going although gradually they tapered some of their activities. The greatest indication of this was when Dad stopped fishing. For many years he had taken the boat out, sometimes with Mum in the back and then back they would come with whiting, herring, the odd leather jacket and even king or dhu fish. In his younger days, Dad used to fish at what he called the Blue Hole. It was a legendary location where the fishing was often good. Of course the shark thought so too, which meant on occasion Dad caught a shark. At such time, the line was cut or the boat would be in danger of being hauled out to sea.

Then the fishing stopped and Dad's blood pressure became a bit of a problem. He had other interests though. Stamps became a passion, a rebirth of the interest of his parents. Mum took care of stray dogs, including Penny form the Pound, Guinea Pigs, cats and sundry birds included the budgies, canaries, the occasional quail and finches. She had breeding boxes and divided the aviaries in case some of the birds were too aggressive.

Then Dad got sick and some of his medical support was less than adequate. It is one of the tragedies of the current medical system that the older patients do not get the level of care and service that they need to maintain a good standard of healthy living. The time people need looking after when they are old and frail, is often the time when they are neglected. Being over prescribed with some of his medicine lead to Dad having a stroke and heart attach. After that things went down hill for him. He never wanted to be a burden on anyone. After the stroke he felt frustrated that he couldn't get back to the way he was. I tried to get him to accept his situation. Maybe I was wrong in that. It probably didn't give him the level of understanding that he was looking for.

After Dad died Mum lost much her interest in everyday activities. In my last few visits with her she kept saying that she wanted to be on her way - to be with Dad. As I said to her on a number of occasions, we were in no hurry to see her go. But there was another side to the coin. This was the same woman who helped build houses, who at one time had thirteen kids under her roof, who rescued animals and travelled around Australia with guinea pigs in the car and a portable toilet seat. This was my mother who had been a tom boy and champion swimmer at school. This was the woman who had baked, cooked, cleaned and built everything from barbecues to brick out houses and fish ponds. We had discussed this situation after Dad died. She didn’t want to hang around and keep him waiting. She didn't want to be a shadow of her former self.

At one time she had told me she wanted to move out of the home that she had shared with Dad for years. I think I may have misunderstood her. She may have been saying she was ready to go. I think one of the reasons she has hung on for so long is because of our love for her and her sense that we want her to stay. Maybe this in a sense is an unfair tyranny. Maybe it is time to let her have her freedom. I'm not saying we should switch her off like some unwanted toy. What I am saying is that we should respect the woman, that vibrant, strong fresh person that was our mother. What would she say if she saw herself today?

I think she would be sad and maybe a little angry at what she had become. If nothing else here would be frustration. One thing is for sure, she would not want anything done in the way of heroic intervention. If she could, she would write in big bold letters DNR on her medical sheets.

If she could, she would look us in the eye and say: It is time enough. Let me go.

I love my Mother. I love her memory and what she is today. But I also believe we should honour her beliefs and what she stood for.

I do not pray for her death, but when it comes I will celebrate her life and her release from it.

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