Mornings

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.