Recently my mum died. And I don't know how to process what felt like a very quick and very slow experience all at the same time.
I've been writing here for a long time, maybe writing here will help me… At least it helps shamelessly ask for donations to Cancer Research
Talking with my brother one thing that stood out was that we both want to remember to focus on the good things. There's a risk that otherwise we only remember the last few relatively horrible months. So, I wanted to spend some time to reflect about what things I want to be sure to remember.
(I normally try to vary the starting words of my sentences… but no apologies for overusing sentences starting with mum in this one)
#FuckCancer
What would mum do?
I couldn't give the eulogy at the funeral - I barely got through a poetry reading. My brother did an amazing job. In his eulogy he explained that in trying to think of how to approach it and what to say he had asked himself: "what would mum do?". Funnily enough… I'd asked myself the same question.
I didn't know how to get through the reading. And I remembered her saying that when she read a poem at her dad's funeral she had prepared by reading it over and over. So, that in the moment, if it was too hard, then maybe she would get through it just from practice. So simple, but just right. So, that's what I did.
When it came to it… I looked up and realised the crematorium was full. I saw faces I'd not seen for decades. My heart was hammering, and I don't remember a moment of it. But I'm told it was read well. Thanks mum.
I'm going to remember to ask myself that question.
A fearless feminist and self-improver
Mum chose the poem I read at the funeral. Honestly, I didn't like it… And I couldn't ask her why. So, what would mum do?
She had no option of what to study at school. Working-class girls from Manchester in the 60s were prepared to be housewives and nothing else. But, she went back to education later in life, getting a degree in her 50s. Ultimately having at least three careers however you cut it.
She would have learned about the poem and the poet. So, I learned about the poem and the poet. And discovered so many parallels for her life.
That Elizabeth Barrett Browning was a feminist and an abolitionist despite losing her family as a result. That her love with her husband was so deep as to be famous. That she spent a part of her life in Italy. That the poem communicates a profound love.
And, the poem made sense. I could completely understand why she'd chosen it… to give us all one last, one more, message of love. I knew how to read it.
Particularly, I want to remember the parallel that mum had always been a feminist.
Once when she worked at British Telecom (would have been the early 90s), the CEO was unexpectedly passing through the office and saying hello to people.
Mum: "Can I ask you a question while you're here?"
CEO (surprised): "of course"
Mum: "Why are there no women on the board?"
From a house with no electric lights in Ancoats to fearlessly asking challenging questions of the powerful 💪
One lesson I know I have learned from her is to be a champion for what is right (however well I might be doing at that) and that there's always a return on investment from trying to be a better version of yourself.
Show a genuine interest in people
Mum had a boundless optimism, and huge capacity for love and interest in people. In the last few months I lost count of the number of people from across decades of her life who have told us things like "she saved me", or "she was my honourary sister, gran, or mother". And she could talk for England… for those of you that know me - she made me look shy and retiring.
But (unlike me) she always asked questions.
An example…
In her final weeks while in hospital. There was a woman in the next bed who was silent and withdrawn. She wasn't interacting with other patients or hospital staff. To be kind… she looked like she'd had a hard life. And, to be honest, I was a little afraid of her and tried not to make eye contact.
At some point I noticed mum had started asking her questions about herself. Little things at first, but with genuine interest in the replies. Genuine interest in the person. Within a few minutes there was a different person there. Engaged and talking - teaching the patients in the ward all about raising pigeons.
Sorry to all the friends who have put up with my info-dumping approach to conversations. I'll try and ask more questions - I promise.
There's so much more…
There is so much more I could remember, and so many more lessons I could take - her optimism and positivity is already stamped on my approach to life. But these things:
- what would mum do?
- be a champion for what you think is right
- be a better version of yourself
- show a genuine interest in people
Those are things I want to carry with me.
I know that I am lucky to have had parents who loved and protected me, who never once gave me a moment to doubt there was always somewhere safe for me.
Shamelessly again I will take the opportunity to ask for donations to Cancer Research at https://www.justgiving.com/page/in-memory-of-denise-dambra
And then leave the final words to Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
