An anniversary

Posted by: fracas on January 7 @ 12:02 pm

Anniversaries tend to be days you want to remember. The birthdays, the wedding days, the day you became officially a couple. We don’t celebrate divorce days, the day you went bankrupt or found out you had cancer. Instead we shy away from those dates to the point of forgetting them. Still I think they serve a purpose in our lives and should be remembered. Because if we are still here on this earth, the moment we hit that specific date means that we’ve overcome something. We survived and went on to new heights. I think these dates are equally important as the happy anniversaries, as it not only reminds us of something terrible and tragic that we have lived though and learned from but also what it took to overcome it, and where we are today because of it. Today, January 7, is one of those anniversaries for me. It’s 13 years ago my mum passed away. For the passed 12 years I haven’t really thought of it. The first years because it was a painful memory that I wanted to erase, and later because it had just faded away from my immediate thoughts. But it came back to me, today of all days, and I am grateful for it.

I woke up just before 5 in the morning to go to the toilet. When I came back I looked at the alarm clock which I normally never do – 4.57 am. I don’t know what triggered it but I suddenly knew it was the day my mum passed away. I had written about it in passing on New Year’s Eve so perhaps it was there subconsciously, but whatever the reason it’s not of importance. What is of interest however is that 13 years ago, I got a call from the hospital early in the morning. As I didn’t like being on my own in our apartment, I had a friend staying with me. We looked at the alarm clock and it was just 5 in the morning. As it was so early it took me some time to get ready and the taxi was late too as it had been snowing heavily that night. When we finally arrived at the hospital it was already 7 o’clock. I talked to the doctor on duty and he informed me that my mother’s condition had turned for the worse and she was not expected to live much longer.

My friend waited for me, whilst I entered the room. It was completely quiet apart from the faint, irregular breathing. My mother was unconscious, and looked so peaceful where she laid. I took her hand, and started stroking her. I told her how much I loved her, and how happy I was that she was my mum. I don’t think I said much more, because when I looked at her I knew she was gone.

It was kind of strange because she really didn’t look dead. I looked for any signs of her breath coming back and for a moment I imagined I could see a slight flutter. But it was not. All was silent and I just sat there, for hours it seemed, until my friend came in. I wasn’t crying, just sitting there waiting aimlessly for something . My friend, Andreas, who really liked my mum, was shocked too. None of us has seen a dead person, and he broke the silence with his tears. Perhaps I started crying too then. I can’t really recall, but I remember we sat there for a while until the nurse came in and led us out.

That day is so clear and yet so hazy. There are fragments I recall with pristine clarity yet others that are lost in mist and shadows. That evening we went to my mum’s and my favourite restaurant to have have meat fondue. It was the perfect place to celebrate her life. I am convinced she was there with us, finally after all those months of chemo and operations being able to taste and savour the food and wine.

Over the years I have been thinking of how it took so long for me to get to the hospital and once I was there saying those magic words she passed away. It was like she had waited for me that long night and she wouldn’t let go until we said goodbye. Every time I think of that I cry. I cry right now, writing this. But it’s not tears of sadness. Those tears have been cried endlessly. Instead it’s tears of love, and for the love my mother had for me. It must have been so hard for her to wait those hours until I was there, but she did. That was the greatest parting gift she gave me. It was the gift of love.

grave