Goodbye Mum

It's 5:30am here in bookbird land. The last few days have been intense. Last night I had the revelation that anguish has many textures. Right now I am calm. But at some point last night the pain was so intense it was like colours in my brain - sharp knives of colours and surreal scenes. I didn't know that. I didn't know it could feel worse. And then it does.

I am writing this now because this blog has documented so much of this story for me. The process of saying goodbye to a parent is a little like saying goodbye to reality. She has always been there, the ground has always been there. In a few hours both will be gone. 

In a few hours - at 9am, actually - my brother, my sister, my father and I will be at her bedside at home. And although nobody has been able to say this straight out, we are letting her go, and she will die. 

Her breathing in the last few days has been brutal and her distress acute. My brother and sister and I come and go. We sit on the lounge nearby and read, or knit, or watch TV. My father is her full time carer now and we have been support crew. Just recently the camellias have been in full bloom, and Spring is threatening. In the midst of this she makes her graceful exit today. 


If you can believe it, until last week she was blogging. If you are my friend, you might like to go there now and witness the miracle of a clear mind. Here is a recent entry in which she quotes this brilliant poem:


"The world of dew
A world of dew it is indeed
And yet, and yet..."

There is a picture of her there. I am told she looks a lot like me. Now I only wonder if I can grow to be half the woman she is. 

So that's all I think for now. Many friends have held me through this time. My partner has been golden and my stepkids beautiful. What will i make of this time? What will it make of me?