Tomorrow I am going to Palmy for the funeral of a friend’s mother. It is incredibly heart breaking on many levels. The lovely lady was a mere 74 years old. But more than that it signifies another death that marks the end of an era for me. I know this makes it my very selfish perspective. The loss of people from my parents’ generation threatens to shake the foundations upon which I have been standing for many years. They were always ‘there’ bearing witness to all our significant events – High school, university, relationship angst, going on the ‘Big OE’, marriage, children etc. Yep, while we gallivanted around in our leisurely and indulgent transition from ‘innocence’ to ‘experience’ they were there lurking in the background ready to rejoice with us, commiserate with us and provide financial and emotional support. At times we were a source of boasting. A kind of boasting one-upmanship. I remember at one stage my Father would hate being collared by a colleague in a ‘what’s your daughter up to now’ face off. I would provide him with any necessary ammunition and dirt so that he could have that as a reserve should he need to bring the Arsehole down to size. I was at that time working in a backpackers in Amsterdam! Poor old Dad didn't have a fucking onderstel to stand on! But mostly I was in a position and place worthy of a good old bloody boast.
Anyway, I digress. The point is that my Dad and these other people were all still there. Still alive, still in Palmerston North, still waking and facing each day, still interested in our lives and now some of them have gone. Forever! For fucking ever! Gone. Incomprehensible. I want to get stroppy and stamp my foot! These people cannot leave us to be the next generation. The top of the pile. The responsible ones. Fuck, I am not ready to be the grown up one, the middle aged one, the upper echelon of the family. The hoofd person, dank u cunting well! But I must grow up and I think I have a lot since my father left us. I notice here that even the language I use is slanted…’left us’ ffs he would never have ‘left us’, he didn't have a fucking choice.
So I am going to mourn the loss of a wonderful woman who was loving, kind, gentle and possessed just a nip of naughtiness. She will be sorely missed. I am also going to mourn the loss of someone who was significant in the shaping of my formative years. I will also be mourning the end of an era. That niggling inching, shifting and shuffling into the unwanted territory- a new era! It feels like an error, it can’t be happening yet I am powerless against its force. I cannot stop it. I am a mere drop of water to its oceanic like force. The only constant is change and all that bullshit.
Now is the time to transition into the new era. To place two feet firmly in Era Nouvelle. To find a way to move forward retaining the important things from the past and people passed. A part of these people live on in our lives and in the lives of any further generations. My son, who met my Dad as a baby, exhibits a lot of ‘Thomson’ characteristics. They have come from my Dad, to me and in turn to my son. It is a living legacy and brings so much comfort and delight to see elements of your father in your son.
So I am going to celebrate a life that was well lived and one that enriched the lives of all those she met. But I plan to have my hoof and my sights planted in and set on the future. I will grow up just a wee bit more with this. Who knows, I may even get down to the Celtic for a wee precious pint of the past and a nostalgic nod to the future. Kia kaha.
#death #parentsdying #endofanera
No comments:
Post a Comment