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My mother passed away in
the early nineties - she was just 62 years old at the time. Just twenty
years older as I am today.
I live in California, and
that flight back to England for her funeral was one of the most surreal
and heart wrenching journey in my life. That was my third trip back to
England that year - and I remember the last time I saw my mother alive,
waving at me as I drove away from her second floor flat. You never know
when an encounter with a loved one will be your last. As I saw her in the
resting home, and kissed her cheek, and realized that she felt like
marble, my knees literally buckled, and I had to be carried away.
I was thinking about her
this morning - and I confess I cried. I have one regret that keeps making
its way to the surface.
My mother was the sort of
person who would talk to everyone. Walking up to the local shops, which
she did three to four times a weeks she would acknowledge everyone that
walked past with a friendly smile and a polite nod. When I would accompany
her it was invariably an entertaining experience. I vividly remember one
time, in a small supermarket, and she was introducing me to everyone
telling them. “This is my son; he lives in California now and is a big
success.” I was a simple restaurant manager just about making his way in
this world, but to her I was this big shot. The thing was though, people
listened, smiled and talked back to her. She had such an optimistic nature
- and treated everyone like a close friend. She held no hatred in her
heart, and was bewildered by those that did.
As a young boy I had always
told her that one day I would take her out in a Rolls Royce and we would
go and have a picnic. My mother was a very humble person. Most of her
clothes came from a second-hand store - and she had nothing of any worth
her whole life.
Back when my parents were
married my dad would give her a few pounds to go and buy one really good
quality dress. She would return with three cheap ones - which invariably
soon fell apart.
My mother had TB when she
was in her late teens and this was just after the war and there was no
real treatment. Yet my father proposed to her anyway. The caregivers aimed
that she only had six weeks to live on the day they married. Her wedding
photographs reveal her evident poor health, her body had been whittled
away to next to nothing - but she was also smiling like an angel. She
obviously proved them wrong - and it was surely the amazing power of love,
and the intense will to survive, that made the miracle happen.
Of course, as the years
slipped by and she had three children, whenever my parents had an argument
she would counter with. “You only married me for six weeks.”
My parents chose to
separate when I was eight, and due to circumstances I would rather not
share I did not even see her for almost two years.
My mother never ever drove.
And so, as that ten year old kid, I made that promise about the picnic in
a Rolls Royce.
In the year she died, I did
indeed take her out for a picnic. But, alas it was not in a Roller, it was
in a boring everyday sedan. I could have rented a Rolls, mid week, for a
few hours for about three hundred dollars. It is one of the biggest
regrets in my life. We had a wonderful picnic. Enjoyed a flask of hot tea,
a few sandwiches and a slice of cake. It was a lovely spring day…and it
was a memorable occasion. But can you imagine how thrilled she would have
been if I had kicked it up a few notches and have shared that story a
thousand times.
It was a stroke that got
her in the end. Not only had she beat TB in the fifties, but cervical
cancer in the eighties…Again they were amazed at her recovery.
So, I want to leave you
with this thought…If you have a dream, or made a promise, do everything in
your power to realize it - for you never know what tomorrow shall bring.
PS Gifford
psgifford @ earthlink.net
www.psgifford.com |
