Hi there Doug!
Mum passed away… but I guess you already know that because I’m sure you would have greeted her with “What are you doing here Granite?” (Granite being your pet name for her, a play on Granny and a nod to her being ancient in her 8th decade on this earth and possibly a little crusty… you were such a cheeky bugger).
Without you and Mum here the house feels like it no longer has a soul. It’s empty of both your presence. Memories aren’t quite filling the void as one is led to believe they will.
I wrote words to say at Mum’s funeral. I managed to get through them with lots of sniffing into the microphone that must have driven everybody crazy, lol.
The amazing Celebrant, Julie Duffy, who guided us and the congregation through your farewell also guided us through Mum’s. She stood beside me and held my hand at the conclusion of Mum’s service as I spoke what was on my heart, just as she did when I had words to share at your funeral.
I drew from her strength of character and genuine care and compassion for what she does in support of bereaved families and in delivering services of such grace.
Julie is a gifted gatherer of information, a master collator and storyteller capturing the essence of the departed in the way she weaves her words. Most wonderfully Doug, she is a genuine soul and we were so pleased she was available to help craft our goodbye for Mum. What a gift it was. Mum would have been so pleased.
Meaningful with no fluff.
I’ve posted my words below so that the lovely people who subscribe to my e-letters here can join in my farewell to Mum. Some of them were lucky enough to meet her in person and for those who weren’t so fortunate I hope they share in an understanding of how she touched and influenced my life and many others.
I did forget to include a couple of little stories that I’m kicking myself for now. You think you’re doing fine and ticking off all the things when organising a funeral and writing farewell’s, but grief brain is a tricky beast of it’s own that presents memory blocks when you least need them.
I forgot to mention how my brothers and I would egg Mum on to drive fast over the little rise in the road near the Bundy Cricket Ground that would lift us out of our seats, if hit at the right speed, and almost bump our heads on the roof of the car and we’d all laugh so hard and feel quite pleased we got Mum to do something naughty.
Seatbelts obviously weren’t a thing then.
I forgot to say how the banter between you and Mum was often the highlight of my day. She always jibbed you that she wasn’t dying before you did. Nothing spoke to this more than on the return of a late night trip to emergency a few years ago, while holding my arm for balance, she poked her head around your bedroom door and sang at you “I’m baa’aack”. It was one of the few times in my life that you, my quick witted husband, was rendered speechless. You looked up momentarily from your ipad with a wry smile and a chuckle that could only have been interpreted as “Touche Roma, touche!”
So for those of you reading along at home, pour yourself a cuppa to have with me as I share this farewell to my Mum for one last time…
When I was a young girl I was painfully shy and scared of everything. If someone spoke to me I’d hide behind Mum or Dad’s leg for security and search for their hand to slip into mine for safety. The only other person I felt this sense of pure safeness with was my Husband Doug. I know how fortunate I was to have this privilege my entire life and I’ve never once taken it for granted.
I remember afternoons when Mum would play records of Vera Lyn or The Seekers and I’d be singing at the top of my lungs to Hey there Georgie Girl while colouring or playing with my dolls and Mum would be singing at the top of her lungs while doing house work, sewing at the machine or baking cakes for morning or arvo teas OR perfecting her famous Ginger Fluff Sponge Cake.
I remember waiting patiently to lick the beaters and being annoyed that they were scraped within an inch of their life and telling her that when I grew up I was going to make cake mixture all for myself just so I could eat it all off the beaters and not bake it. She would smile and say I’d make myself very sick.
I remember tight immaculate side pigtails, sing-song-ing in unison with my Dad “Thank you Muvva Garling” when she’d made our favourite bread, cream and sugar for a special lunch time treat, and many pretty little dresses she’d sew for me and for my favourite teddy and Roma doll.
Later in life she became my trusted friend and confidant, always appreciating she would say what was necessary for me to hear not what she thought I wanted to hear to magically make it all better.
After losing two of the most significant people in my life virtually 26 months apart, I’ve found myself lying awake wondering… “What’s this life business really all about anyway? (A question Mum pondered herself in recent months)
All I’ve come up with in answer and consolation so far is to embrace this quote by Writer Liz Newman…
“The love you still have for who and what you’ve lost is so deeply important. The chapters of their love and the pages of memories are yours to keep. Your grief, their story, and how it’s helped write yours: it matters. It all matters”.
Mum, you mattered.
Even on the days when you thought you had nothing left to contribute to this world and felt sometimes like a burden, you mattered.
Your presence in this world, in my life, it mattered.
It really has been a monumental privilege. A challenging privilege at times for us both over the last few years as we met this decline into old age with respect, some frustration, some humour and a steady supply of unconditional love for each other throughout.
You said to me, and I’m paraphrasing, “Sandra, don’t you dare stand up there at my funeral and put me on a pedestal making me out to be someone that I wasn’t. I had my faults, I was far from perfect but, you can only do what you think is right or best at the time and live with it”.
If this was the only legacy you’d left me as a life lesson (that I’ve actually drawn upon many times in the last month) it would be enough. But, beautifully, it’s not.
A couple of thank you’s if I may…
If you don’t believe that Earth Angels walk among us then you have never met my Aunty Robyn… and if you don’t believe you can have more than one Earth Angel assigned to you then you’ve never met my cousin Leanne. Thank you both for the love and support you gave Mum and I on a regular basis. We love you more than words could say.
And, if you don’t believe in male Earth Angels then you haven’t met my nephew/son Bart and know of the love and support he gave his Grandmother through the night shifts of the last week in hospital when myself and other family couldn’t be there for whatever reasons. Thank you on behalf of us all.
To my dearest friends, my loving family and Mum’s immediate family and friends, thank you for your support and care in whatever form and way you were able to give it over many years. You know who you are. Our village was strong.
To my son, my two nephews and niece, whom Doug and I always regarded as our own, and their partners - the adoration and respect you’ve shown your Grandmother over time is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed- she loved and cared for you all more deeply than you could ever know - as do I.
A special thank you to Julie Duffy for once again guiding us through the loss of yet another family member and delivering a beautiful service for Mum, just like we knew you would.
Mum, the peace I felt from you as you opened your eyes, looked at us, and gently slipped away to finally be with Dad again was palpable and I’ll carry the grace and strength and sense of safeness you gifted me in that moment always.
Thank you for being my Mum.
My Mum, my friend. Until we meet again.
Love always, Sandra Xx
If you’d like to shout me a cup of Earl Grey Tea while I type away bringing these open letters to you and support my creative pursuits in the process you can do so by hitting the button below. Your contribution to my tea habit (and internet connection supply) means the world to me.
Thank you Xx
Beautifully said, Sandra, and thank you for sharing these stories of your beautiful mum with us. Sending you lots of love xx
A beautiful tribute to a wonderful lady. Thank you for sharing this with us. Sending you love, hugs, and - of course - cups of Earl Grey tea. x