Below you can find another chapter from the book Thank you, mum. I hope it touches your heart.
(For the Swedish version, scroll down and then select Next post.)
I was at work, in the middle of my exciting projects. The phone rang. Dad
told me something that I didn't quite understand. You'd had a heart attack and
were hospitalized.
I couldn't believe it.
You. The heart of the family. Who organized everything from family gatherings
to vacations. You had, after all, had your fair share of illnesses, but nothing
could have prepared us for this. Your condition was critical, Dad told me. My
colleagues were compassionate and told me to hurry to the hospital.
I made it there just
before the operation was about to start. The fear in your eyes as they rolled
you away, that image has never left me. Just like the fear in Dad's eyes when
we could no longer see you. Dad and I waited for a long time. Finally, a young,
tall doctor came. He told us the procedure went well. He drew it out for us.
They'd done a quadruple bypass, taking veins from your legs, placing them
around your heart. I remember Dad asking how long you'd live following this
operation. The doctor responded ten to fifteen years. Dad was relieved, whereas
I thought, only fifteen years. You wouldn't even turn eighty years old, Mum!
You survived the procedure. You and Dad took courses on how to live a long and
healthy life after a heart attack.
One day, long after you'd
recovered, I went to see you. You wore a fancy blouse and a skirt. Black with white
polka dots. You had plenty of beautiful clothes, although you used to save them
rather than wear them to lounge around the house in. I wondered if you were
going anywhere. You weren't, but you said you might as well enjoy the fancy
clothes since we didn't know how much time we had left. That made me so happy.
Yes, Mum, just like that!
Live your life! Wear your pretty clothes, use the posh china, and all your
beautiful things. Time is yours, enjoy it! That wonderful insight didn't last
long though. It was overthrown by the habit of saving pleasures and rewards for
later through years of frugality.
During your last summer,
we celebrated a birthday for one of our sons, and you dressed up in a gorgeous,
shiny, burgundy blouse. Dad had found it in the closet; tag still on. Never worn.
There are still beautiful, unworn clothes in your closet.
Thank you, Mum, for
surviving that heart attack. So that my children got to experience an amazing
grandmother, instead of just a vague memory of someone who passed away when
they were young. It was hard enough losing you when we did, Mum, even though we
had got used to the idea through the various illnesses stealing you away in
little increments. We had gotten used to you not taking care of everything
anymore, not even yourself. Instead, this gradually became Dad’s
responsibility.
If we'd lost you then
when you were still the family's core, when the kids were still young, when we
were unprepared, we would have drowned in grief. Or, like Dad put it; he would
have lost his mind.
Thank you, Mum, for
hanging in there, thanks for blessing us with almost a whole decade more with
you.
**
Please share this blogpost if you think it can help someone!
This was a chapter from the book Thank you, mum. A book for those who miss someone.
To read the first chapter, go to this post. To get a notification by mail when a new chapter is posted, click here.
If you would like to give the book to someone you think can be soothed by it, or to yourself, you can find it on Amazon on any of the links below, or you can search for it on your Amazon of choice.
Amazon in the Netherlands (if the price of the paperback is higher than about 17 euros, check out another market)
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