Yesterday we arrived at my mothers flat at 1.00.
God’s Gift drove us, we both had bellies full of porridge, he with milk me with water. We didn’t eat again until 6.30 when I bought a bag of Cheese and something Kettle crisps. By the last handful my lips were sticking together and I had a thirst on.
I stood in the middle of my mothers memories and took a deep breath.
I started on the books, sorting the ornaments, add a ‘p’ and thats pretty much what we got, a room full of offensive pornaments.
I boxed up the photographs. Moved to the bedroom and sorted her several diaries.
Moved to the hall and emptied sheets, pillow cases and towels into black bags. I couldn’t face the kitchen.
Four hours later we had packed the back of the car with my mothers life.
So thats it. 25 years of independent living either in the skip, in the boot or in denial.
Last night me, him and the dawter went through some photographs. The passing of time. Decades slipping through our fingers.
I made a mug of hot chocolate and went to bed. I don’t remember falling asleep.
Today I washed, ironed, sorted, unloaded, re-stacked and reorganised. Miraculously my mother has fitted very well into my life.
Her books on Russia, her books on writing and her damask table covers.
I shall visit her tomorrow and take her bits that she cant remember she had.
I have become acutely aware of every footstep that I take.
All good things really do come to an end.

4 thoughts on “Dasvedanya”

  1. Hi Jeni dear,
    Haven’t read your blog for a week and glad to see you’re back whole and hearty from the States. We just arrived back from a week’s skiing trip in the Swiss alps with the weather reaching -15 on the peaks! Nothing is as exhilarating as skiing down a mountain with blue skies above. You should give it a try one day, it’s never too late!
    All my love,

  2. It must have been very hard to do. I know my mum has the start of vascular dementia and at the moment is still in her own home in Glasgow, both my sisters are in England and I am overseas. I do worry about it all, but had a lovely visit with her last summer. I call her every few days. I dread her condition becoming worse. Much love Jeni.

  3. In a lot of ways that is the most personal thing you have ever written to us.
    Yes, every footstep, every breath, every memory. These all turn on a different pivot now, don’t they? If i could i’d put my hand on your shoulder and tell you we’re all with you, all on your side, but when all is said and done only you carry the specific memories that make these days what they are. Only you see them through your eyes and see their colours.
    Love always, Rhianon.

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