I will miss
the mornings.
The
mornings with Mum – they were different in December. I would hear her shuffling
upstairs, and lying on the blue room, I could see if there was a light on, if
she was up and going or just in the bathroom.
The Dex - “Dexamethasone” (or the bomb, as Mum called it), were really
turbo for her, releasing her from the tiring fatigue that she was feeling. It
drained her. “I am so tired of feeling
tired”, she said. Not even being able to make tapenade, without sitting
down. That was one of the very few times I saw her sad about not being able to
do what she wanted. She just sat down at the kitchen table, with her head
between her hands, and said, I guess I am going to have to accept that this
does not get much better.
So she
stopped making tapenade. And she took many naps. And enjoyed lying on the
leather couch with the fire going and candles lit. We thought she was sleeping
sometimes, but iften we were surprised. Her hearing got almost even better!
Listening to what we were saying in the kitchen even….. J
But the
mornings – this was when she was awake and AT IT. She went into her “den”,
turned on the little oven and got the heat going, and then she sorted out. Files,
address books, who is to call who, pictures (she was a bit too ruthless here,
so we had to go through and retrieve girl guide photo albums from 1945!), printer
and PC manuals, photoshop books for the Photo group on the island, and
magazines for GIRO. She sorted out.
And then I would
poke my nose in the door, or we would, one or two siblings, and we had special times. We closed the door as to not
wake George (sometimes it was 3 am, other times it was 4:30 am.). She zipped
into talking mode. Storytelling, and almost could not stop. Stories about her life,
her jewelry, about Dad, about travels, about her work, about her reflections on
her cancer, on her dying, on us kids, our spouses, on letting go of life, on
the wonderful life she has had. She talked, we listened, asked questions, and
once in a while we got to get a cup of café latte for her and one for us too.
Towards the
end, (the first week in January) we had hot rums (half an ounce for Mum) at about
01:20 – 2 am. And then she would sleep again for a few or some hours.
The mornings
were special times. Talking, coffee, more talking, and then breakfast – a soft
boiled egg – ala Erik or Svend. And Mum had her toast with cheese (caraway, if
possible) and a bit of marmelade. And in
there somewhere a bit of “fresh air”. The
topics at breakfast would vary – but always on the agenda – what will we have
for dinner tonight? -.... What plans do you have for today?
The
mornings were special.
