Mother of me

I knelt down to the boxes packed from the week before, a deep sadness overcome my body, childhood memories swept my thoughts, until they met up with your last moments, our last moments, I didn't know they were our last moments, guilt took over my sadness, weeping in my misery, thinking how I never made enough visits in these last few months.

My sister wrapped her arms around me, comforting me as I felt like a lost little girl whos mother had just passed.

I'm 28.

Death is strange.

Thinking to myself how can I overcome this pain, so heavy, never having felt this before.

I knew grief, I knew sadness, I know anger very well.

I didn't know the death of my mother.

It wasn't just grief.

It was a deep hollow, I never knew.

I am part of her, as she is me and mine.

It just was death... so it is an ending.

I don't believe it was supposed to end like this but then I wouldn't be me now if it didn't.

I needed to be me now.

It's a beginning. Still nothing truly ends, only transforms.

I picked myself up and your boxes off the floor. My sister and I talked of the things we still had to do, because in death, life doesn't stop.

The funeral dates was organised, but bills and newspaper clippings needed to be done, we had to choose a photo for her death notice. We had to physically end all of her earthy possessions, choose what to do with the books she loved, and Elvis collections.

We left the nursing home and donated all her clothes to the op shop, then contentied on our way to the storage shed where all her belongings where in limbo, we start sorting through.

So many books, so many cups! The tin foil though, I'm not to sure why anyone would hoard that.

When packing up her home on transition to the nursing home she wouldn't let me throw anything away. I know she is cursing me as I create a tip pile.

After a few hours of sorting, I find the box of photo albums, flicking through, she was so beautiful, full red lips, big brown eyes, independent and tough.

At the bottom of the box was a red velvet frilly album, I had never recalled seeing it previously, I open up to see the first few pages are marriage photos of a lady I was unsure of.

I reached the photo out of the album, On the behind of the picture said, "lynnetts wedding day, Mrs Dunn 3.8.1992"

so we shared the same name, I looked closer at the photo, the man is my father?! I never knew he was married before...

but no wait, I was born in summer 93, nothing made sense.

I continued through the album holding this photo of "lynett", to then find a photo of these people holding a baby, in my favourite knitted blanket.

My dad and Lynnet, and... me??? Wheres mum? Whos house is this, why does mum have these photos?? What the heck is happening?

I flicked through the rest of the album, animals, farms and a Christmas dinners, of places and people I dont know, but I'm there in another womans arms or bassinet...

I come to portrait photo at the back of the book, its of her "Lynnet. She has the most stunning of cheekbones, with beautifully fair skin. Her small lips somewhat resembled mine, and kind green eyes... On the reverse of the images it reads, Lynnet Faith Growser, 5.4.72

My mind raced as I stared in the eyes of this woman, my heart beating in my ears.

I think I have just stumbled across an unexpected journey that my mind isn't sure how to navigate.

Who am I?

Looking for a funeral photo of my mother, I find photo of my mother I never knew about.

I have been on many spiritual journeys, and currently on a new endeavour for the past week with the death of my mother... or the woman who raised me.

Where do I go now?

Do I call dad?

Do I tell Sal what I've just found?

Do I forget this and just continue on my journey of grief.

No I have to know.

I reach for my phone in my pocket, it's dead. Ha surprise, death it's you again working in mysterious ways.

So my journey to find myself begins.

I yell out to Sal, come on sis let's get some tucker.

I pack the boxes of photos in the car and we head home.

After lunch I tell Sal I'm going for a walk. I make my way down by the river I call dad.

We haven't spoken in 8 years, he never approved of my husband. I know he's planning on coming to mums funeral so he probably thinks this call would be regarding it.

He answers, happy to hear my voice, emphasising on how much he misses my voice and laugh.

I just straight out ask, who is Lynnet.

The phone line goes still.... "Dad"? Are you there, hello?"

After a moment, He responded with "I think it's best we talk about this in person."

Uh no thanks Dad, nows good!.

So he starts, obviously knowing I have found out something. He confirms, Lynnet is my mother... I was the 3rd child they tried for, the previous two being stillborn.

They was together for 6 years, and she died in a tragic unfortunate road crossing accident.

I was almost 2 years old when she died, dad raised me, he hired a nanny, thats how he met "mum" only 6 months later.

He continued and told me that I have her voice and laugh. Her sense of humour and resilience. He cried as he reminisced this woman, his true love, my mother.

He then also assured me, that "mum" loved me as her own.

I always just thought because I was the eldest one that I was treated differently, all these thoughts start popping in my head, memories of when Sal was born, how I sensed she loved her more, she held her more, she kissed her more, how they looked more alike then ever, how couldn't I see it before?

I hang the phone up and fall to my feet, my sense of identity just vanished, feeling betrayed.

So much loss and heartache in a day.

Trinkled with, confusion and anger.

I hold my head in my hands, the sound of dogs barking and the river flowing helps me become present again.

I look out to the river, a hand rests upon my shoulder, it's him the love of my life. The man I married, the father of my children.

Always there when I need him.

My body comes into relief, my tears fall easily.

No words but I hear all he says. I feel it. I know it.

He will ride this journey with me.