For so many that have the memories of past conversations, ditties and sayings that transpired between mother and daughter, I can relate. Still now, with her aging toward 70, mum is there with that character all of her own. She has her quirks, her smile that lighten lives around her. She does her craft, ‘stitch and bitch’ they call it and patches all our quilts, she likes to fish and swim and camp, just not as much as before but all this makes her the person I see and the one that I adore.
I see it, I am her. Actions take place, words are said and I am her in every aspect… except I am me.
For my mother she never was able to experience this. She was adopted at birth, then lost her adoptive mother at a young age. As a young woman she was lost. The experience of growing up in that one special persons eyes eluded her for life.
She yearned for a woman that had given her love and her own ditties and sayings, sweet memories of a childhood that she would never want to change, but in secret she had a lost yearning for something more.
She aged with the unknown until, with some research done, she found family she could call her own. No mother to look too, no father to hug, no siblings to share stories but cousins with memories and photos to show and their own little idiosyncrosies that each one held.
These too shared many resemblances to things in her past. That same kick of hair that curled the wrong way, the sport they had played and the jobs they had held. When they spoke of Aunty, they spoke of her mother giving her an insight of the woman that had been and now of who she is and of who I am.
For me I am lucky. I have my mother, my son has his Nan, he also has his Nonna. In fact he has all his grandparents, a fact that I am, shall I say, a little jealous about but extremely joyious that he has the relationships that myself and my mother were both denied. Grandparents are enviable for the life they have led, some I guess we will never truly understand, but they have moulded us to the life that we now lead even when they were not there to see it happen.
My mother now has the pleasure of looking at me, my smile, my hair, even my voice and she can see herself. Those ditties and sayings of old, passed from one to the next dissolve and fade but my mother began her own to pass down through the generations and for that I am grateful.