This morning, at around 11am Queensland time, my mum was sitting down watching a performance in her care home. I have no idea what the performance was but dearly hope it wasn’t the clowns that turned up when I was there. Anyway, she was with the other residents, gathered around on chairs, watching. She’d been sequestered away with covid for a bit so was probably looking forward to a jolly good show.
When the performance ended, the residents stood up and started drifting off to do whatever care home residents do after a performance. Mum hadn’t moved and the staff moved in to wake her up. The thing is, she wasn’t asleep.
Mum has been in the care home for a few years. She went in when she started to forget things, like where she lived. She was also getting increasingly abusive, something that happens with the onset of dementia. While she didn’t want to go into the care home, after a while she seemed to accept it. When I visited in 2019, I spent a week visiting every day and the place seemed fine and the staff, lovely.
The thing is, though, mum didn’t like giving up her independence, no matter how limited it was. I understand that completely. I would hate to be completely dependent on anyone else. Still, when your faculties start wandering off with the wee folk, it’s time for someone else to worry about looking after you.
Then, of course, there’s the choice to come and go as you please. For her own safety, she was not allowed out on her own. That has to be hard for someone who has lived a life with the freedom to decide her own destinations.
Actually, mum was the driving force in us moving to Australia in the 1960’s. She saw an ad on the telly asking for people to pay 10 quid, climb aboard a boat and resettle in sunny Oz. She was sick of wet Christmases and wanted sunshine, golden beaches and a life in the open air. Dad was sceptical but, knowing that mum was generally right, agreed. I stalled things a bit by getting mumps (or measles, I can’t remember which) but we eventually left and settled in NSW.
Mum has often asked me over the years how I felt about her decision to move halfway round the world, and every time I’d tell her it was the best decision. I am completely grateful to her that I grew up an Australian. I was extremely lucky.
Okay, I think moving to Queensland was a bit mad but, she and dad loved it in Caloundra and I didn’t have to live there, so all was good.
Mum devoted a lot of her life to caring for dad who was sick with emphysema for over five years. She was determined to give him the best life she could, given his restrictions. However, when he died in 2014 she seemed to have forgotten how to socialise; how to involve herself in things locally. And this was after years of being involved in the Caloundra social scene.
For years, the pair of them had been involved in putting on shows for the ‘old folks’ in a strange sort of preparation for mum’s care home future. Funnily enough, one of my favourite photos of mum is her singing at some Christmas Butlin’s show. We always joked that mum couldn’t sing for toffee.
I reckon this was always a bit hard on her when Dad and Denise had such brilliant voices, but at least Tracey took after her. I’d love to know what she sounded like in the photo above but I never will. I like to think she sang well enough. At least she looked good.
The thing is, I also performed for the ‘old folks’ back in my theatre days. But I’m pretty sure I never killed anyone. Which, obviously, is good. However, the marketing opportunity would be delicious. Imagine being able to actually print on your advertising material that audiences are ‘dying to see you‘?
Since January, Mirinda convinced me that I should write mum a letter every month about our adventures. I have no idea if she enjoyed them, but hope she did. Maybe she did. Maybe they gave her a glimpse of the world outside, over the care home fence and halfway round the world.
According to Denise, while she may not have remembered a lot of things, she always remembered me. This was because she was constantly annoyed about my beard. Whenever Denise (deliberately) showed her a photo of me, she would humph, sputter and say “Why doesn’t he shave that thing off!“
Anyway, what I really wanted to say is thank you, mum. For giving me life. For letting me do whatever insane things I wanted. For giving me an Australian upbringing. But, most of all, for being my mum. I love and miss you.
