July 2, 2022•260 words
July 2020, our phone calls held more joy. She managed to get out for a "fine piece ( cream cake)" at the cafe and picnics in the gardens with her friend Amelia. The restrictions in Scotland seem north Korean in my view, so my daily phone calls connected mother and son with congruence. She articulated fear, not of sickness but being forgotten; this sat in her heart before the lockdowns (as it sits in mine). It taught me how isolation and oppression bring personal and societal vulnerabilities to the surface. She never realised how much I discovered when we spoke.
Autumn was approaching, and with the colder weather, she could not go out. Discussion of her legs feeling weaker filled me with concern. There was a tone of loss in her voice; depression took hold, her value forgotten. I reminded her of the courage she gave me. Her compassion rippled outwards through her children, and we all contribute our love in service to the world.
My sister called; I booked a flight, hugged my sister, arrived at mum's bedside, held her hand and read her poetry. Then she was gone.
Remembering this time, as tomorrow I return to my family and roots. My sisters and I have grown closer. A blessing mum left us.
Mum asked to be taken to "Tap o North", a hill looking over the place of her upbringing Rhynie, Scotland. Her ashes will meet the northern winds; her soul will join with nature. With closure comes connection, with family comes love, and with love comes light.