17 June 2012
Mother's Day may have been thought up by a creative executive at Hallmark as another way of extracting our hard-earned money, but it does focus out attention on the women who gave us life and cared and nurtured us through life's formative years.
My mother Marie was a beautiful woman. She was born and grew up in Dunkineely. When she married my father Jim, she moved 16 miles down the road to Carrick. Originally living on the Teelin Rd, and later moving next door to the Corner house.
She dedicated her life to raising her family, and it wasn't always easy. She had five children under the age of six when she took on the task of caring for my father's elderly bed-ridden Aunt Mary. Mary was a full time caring role on her own and although we were unaware of it, it must have been a huge burden on a young mother trying to raise and enjoy her own family.
Mum settled in to Carrick and it always amazed me how well she knew the local people. When ever there was a discussion about someone anywhere in the Glen or Kilcar parishes, she would know all the family connections, who was related to who, where they came from and where they were now.
In later years she worked in McGinleys shop across the road and also on the phone exchange in the Post Office now owned and run by my father. She was always courteous and put a smile on many a customer with her warm welcome. Like most mothers, she enjoyed her kids, and the fond memories I have of her are a testament to her love for us. She had a few favourite stories about us, which were recounted many times when we were older. Her favourite was about our neighbour and good friend Francie Doogan who at a very young age arrived in to our kitchen one day while we were all eating our dinner, He looked around the table at us eating, then looked at mum and uttered "Is the boys in?" Mum said that they weren't at which Francie replied "Ok" and left. She loved telling that and we loved hearing it.
My mother was in hospital on many occasions, around twenty different operations in all, yet I never heard her complain once. One day while we were chatting at home, out of the blue, she told me she thought she had cancer. I totally dismissed it and insisted that there was a bug going around. When she was diagnosed after spending 10 days in hospital having tests, her first reaction, after the consultant told her, was to head off for a smoke. When I visited her later that day, I started to cry. She quickly pointed out that this wasn't a sad day, she said it would have been much worse if they had not found anything and had sent her home, only to discover the problem six months later. She knew she was ill and although privately she dreaded what was ahead, she remained very positive and was always in good form.
She never gave up the cigarettes. She always said that it was her only vice and as her cancer was not in her lungs, she felt they were doing her no harm. She knew I didn't like her smoking, but by this stage I knew there was no point arguing with her. On one occasion in a very wintry January, she had been taken into casualty in Letterkenny General. She was kept waiting on a chair in casualty for six hours. At this stage mum had lost a lot of weight, weighing in around 5 stone, so sitting on a hard plastic seat for this length was very sore on her. After 5 hours she insisted she needed a smoke, so myself and my wife Margaret took her out through a blizzard of snow by wheelchair to the smoking hut, she loved it. I later bought her a packet of Silk Cut purple King size, she looked up at me and whispered "..miracle of miracles.." On another occasion shortly before she died in the Hospice in Letterkenny, she had taken a very bad turn. Dad and I were called in to see the doctor and advised that if there were family abroad, we should call them home, mum hadn't long to live. I decided I would make the calls. Later that day we sadly made our way back to the hospice. To our huge shock and surprise we found her sitting down in the smoking room having a chat with another patient. In astonishment, Margaret looked at her and said she had made a miraculous recovery. Mum looked up at her and uttered "..nicotine's great stuff" and strangely for her, it probably was.
She spent a lot of her last few years in hospital, firstly Letterkenny, then St. James' in Dublin and then St. Luke's, back to Letterkenny and finally the wonderful Donegal Hospice. Although this was a time of sadness for our family, the time spent in and around the hospice was a very positive one. It truly returns dignity to the ill and dying. It allowed our extended family to be with her without feeling we were in the way of the doctors and nursing staff. We will be forever grateful for the wonderful, humane treatment shown to our mother in her last few months.
When she died, we all lost a large part of our lives. After months of watching her waste away, I was overcome when I seen her laid out in all her finery, hair and makeup done. I was reminded how beautiful she still was.
On this Mothering Sunday, I need to say, I love you mum, and we all miss you very much. Happy Mother's Day.
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Mother's Day • Opuss № I