Tag Archives: mother

Nearly Mother’s Day

Last Sunday I accused my son and partner of forgetting it was Mother’s day. It wasn’t. I had the day wrong. They said, it’s next week. I said, google it. They did. They were right. Maybe they had thought of … Continue reading

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Missing

I think of her everyday. I have a bookmark, made for her funeral, loose in the console of my car. As I drive to work and stop at the lights I handle the glossy card. The picture is of her … Continue reading

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Day Three of Dying

Her piano-playing fingers are swollen. Blue. It is not the hand I know. The one that has done so much touching, grasping, stroking, holding is in there somewhere, beneath the oedema. Today the memory of her bones are gone. The … Continue reading

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Day Two Of Dying

  I go to Myer to buy nighties. They are crisp and new. They are cotton with a delicate flower print. The woman serving me apologises for no one being in attendance at the counter while I was waiting to … Continue reading

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Day One of Dying

I go ahead of the ambulance that is transporting my mother back to the nursing home. Silver Chain has been arranged to come out and deliver the iv antibiotics. In my head I hear the parting words of the physician, … Continue reading

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The Days before Day One of Dying

As I take my position by my mother’s nursing home bedside this is what I write in my journal; Day One of Dying. I suspect I am thinking her death will be more drawn out than it is. How many … Continue reading

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When my mother died…

It is Sunday and my mother has been dead for just over a day. We, the bereaved, are in the supermarket getting things for dinner. Because even when someone dies there is food to cook and dishes to wash. We … Continue reading

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And now to write…

I was planning to spend the morning writing, but instead I am at the nursing home watching my mother. When I rang her all she would say was sick, then hang up. I wasn’t sure that she even knew it … Continue reading

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An Old Diary…Part 2

One of the sisters has flown home across the continent. They can’t be much further apart and still on the same land mass. Still. The sisters are sisters. She stayed for the garage sale. Perhaps they made enough to cover … Continue reading

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An Old Diary…Part 1

Two women in their forties are in the house of their childhood. Once they shared a bedroom. They made a cubby between the Jacarandas with jarrah pickets and hessian wheat sacks. They are sorting for a garage sale. Already so … Continue reading

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