Mum

Excuse me if I slip into first person language dear reader ... loyal readers of this six year ramble may have noticed a gradual slipping away of I, me, my and mine ... then it became a practice to try to write elegantly without those traps, not for your sake, it was never written for you, but as part of the quest to find peace from the chattering me mind ... like a writing meditation ... to go along with the daily walking meditation ... it helped ...

As it happens, the ego self has returned recently, consciously ... you may have noticed that a crisis has occurred across much of the world ... your blogger, comfortably hibernating in this little cottage in the hills, was already preparing a Spring Camino ... having become attached to the simplicity of the regime ... then Brittany Ferries wrote to tell me the crossing was cancelled ... not postponed as sometimes happens in rough weather, but cancelled ... the refund was smoothly handled ... the train trip took a little longer, but that was refunded too ... in fact, dear reader, the UK government told me I couldn't go anywhere (with exceptions) ... the long resisted safe house suddenly became a boon, rather than the burden felt when the precious few years of freedom were compromised by the arrival of money ... yes, dear sceptic, it was still my choice, and many people would be unambiguously delighted, but still ... I am trying not to take it personally ...

On a personal note, I have to tell you that my Mum sadly died.

Actually, I don't really understand why it is so many people die sadly. What is meant by that phrase? I only saw one person die in this whole life, and that was Mum. It was a very poignant experience and I was happy to be there at the end. She didn't seem sad. I wasn't sad. Elder sister you will have to ask, but it's possible she wasn't sad either.

A brief biography of Mum, from my perspective, may be helpful.
She was young once. The youngest of a large family, or maybe youngest girl, Uncle Phillip may have been the youngest. About 12 children I think. I lost count. .. some died as babies.
They lived in a quite small terrace house in Wilton, near Salisbury. I currently live in a quite small terrace house alone and the mind boggles how they all lived together there, but that's how it was and Mum never expressed any bitterness about such crowded conditions. Actually, I have no memory of her expressing anything but unconditional love. Lucky me! I thought it was normal.
She met Dad during the second World War .. she was in the Land Army, he in the Army Medical Corps. He never talked about his war. Maybe he was a little traumatised. Perhaps he joined the medics because he preferred not to kill people ... I don't know, he never said.
I still cannot imagine Mum having sex ... though I hasten to add I am not inferring four virgin births. Anyway, Linda was first out, soon followed by Frank. Frankly speaking, it is possible that Dad was disappointed the first time ... still they had the almost perfect pair and that was enough. Times were hard and Mum's experience probably taught her you could have too much of a good thing. Next out, accidentally, was me. Perhaps why I was a rebel, who knows.
Finally, Judith arrived, relieving me of the burden of being the baby.
Linda is alive in Dorset, in the family home.
Frank died, sadly, some years ago with a brain tumour in Australia. This was more than sad for those who knew him ... three small daughters, wife, friends, siblings. Perhaps saddest of all, both parents still living. Both getting towards their natural exit ... heart problems .. first major chance to go ... medics are very good at taking us past that, so we can have a go at cancer ... medics are quite good at taking us past that too ... hello Alzheimer's!
Dad sadly died of hospital acquired infection a while later. We didn't sue. It was past his time.
I sat in the hospital with Mum as Frank was nearing his early exit ... she was bargaining with her God. .. but he or she wasn't having it ... like many parents she would happily have swapped places ... but she carried on ... smiling with the pain of arthritis, a cocktail of drugs, a heart bypass she specifically declined but had anyway during an emergency. She didn't sue.
Judith is still living ... she's French now.

Well, there it is dear reader, she's dead now, happily. I am an orphan. That was tricky, having to take responsibility. Well more responsibility to be precise.

Of course, this was quite a few years ago now. I am entering the three score years and ten time and ready, willing and able to take my turn. The heart genes might do it, though there is no sign so far. Rest assured, dear reader(s), I have no attention of dying sadly. How you, the daughters, either remaining sister or anyone else respond is entirely up to you.

Maybe, when we cry at the funeral, we are crying for ourselves?

It was an early start, before dawn, writing this after cautiously sharing some FB posts, hoping to help folks lift the fear a little. Already one person has let me know I have offended him. The share was from a young, black, rock chick from Florida, who kindly let me be her FB friend so I could broaden my perspective. The images were questioning how shopping was allowed and wandering the wilderness not. Seemed a question worth examining. I made no comment, but my opinion was inferred anyway ... offence was taken though none was offered ... difficult times!

Time for a walk over the fells. Nature is bursting out exuberantly. Seasonal flu is relaxing with the Sun, exercise, fresh air. Those pesky bugs love the indoors. It's really not safe in there.

I wonder what Mum would have made of the madness. She did her best to protect us. Chucked us out after breakfast to wander in the woods, chucked us out after dinner (now called lunch) for more risky behaviour. We were lucky to live in the countryside, though a local friend raised in Sunderland reports the same approach. ..