Wednesday 30 January 2013

I'm a nOrphan

My mother has been in various EMI nursing homes with dementia for 6 years. When Dad died it quickly became obvious that they hadn't been managing for ages. About 4 years ago, she was settled in a lovely home near my eldest brother. He has been the main carer since then, taking his turn, dealing with all the paperwork and responsibility while we rushed off to make a life in France.

Mum had something called a 'cardiac episode' after Christmas. The home staff were delightful, such lovely caring people both for her and us. We all decided that there was no point in her going into hospital so she spent the last few days of her life in her familiar room being looked after by people that cared about her and just faded away. I talked with a friend before Christmas who had had the most awful time in hospital with her mother, trying to get her cared for. I am so pleased that I have none of that regret.

The funeral was arranged for what turned out to be a really snowy weekend. Dad is already buried in the Suffolk village churchyard where they spent a very happy last 30 years of their life and Mum was to be joining him. It was late afternoon by the time she was put in the ground, in an almost black and white photo of a winter's afternoon with gently falling snow. A lovely turnout from the village, (such broad Suffolk voices) all but one of her 5 siblings represented and a few long lost cousins that had managed to brave the snow.

As is the way of funerals, the family get together was lovely. A huge advantage for both Dad and Mum's funeral has been the ability of the internet to gather stories from all sides and ages of the family and also to gather people who have been pursuing the history of the family.

It feels very much that they are now resting in peace with everyone having done all they could to give them what they wanted. 

Incidentally after my brother's euology, my daughter in law said 'he could have been talking about you'. Part of me is delighted to follow in my mother's footsteps and part of me is horrified :-)


  1. Please accept my sympathy on the loss of your mother.

    I am glad that she was surrounded by caring staff and had family close by...

    Oh, and if someone were to say that I resembled my mother I might be quite taken aback!

    1. Thank you Fly

      I think I'll just pick and chose the bits I think I resemble!

  2. So sorry for your loss, Rosie, but glad to hear that your mother's life ended so peacefully and with so much good and loving care. I don't think any of us could ask for more.

    The family gathering sounds wonderful and I think you will find a lot of interest and enjoyment in the stories and family history, which root all of us in our own context.

    Even though I loved my mother very much, my guess is that I would feel the same mixture of pleasure and dismay if someone said how much I resembled her.

    1. Thank you Perpetua. I'm very happy with her eventual laying to rest although there were some hiccups along the way.

      My brother said 'what is it with you women not wanting to be like your mothers?'

  3. So sorry for the loss of your mother Rosie, but how reassuring that she spent her last days being cared for so well.

    I would be horrified if anyone suggested I was like my mother (although I sometimes look in the mirror and am dismayed that the older I get, the more I look like her)

  4. I only get a real physical resemblence in the hairdressers with wet hair and no glasses on. That's enough :-)

  5. My pleasure at finding you back in blogland is tempered by the reason for your absence... I am so sorry for your loss.