this morning. I remember it now. I
wrote it in the middle of the night after waking from a dream. I have little inkling of the dream,
though once I consult the note on the envelope all might be revealed.
cardiologist. Her heart seems fine
at the moment, blood pressure 125 over 70, better then mine. That one leaky valve seems to have
stopped leaking. Her heart is
smaller and functioning well with the aid of medication.
sister recently and he listened patiently as my mother went over the story
again, about how she had not expected her sister who was six years younger to
die; how it is so much harder when her sister is so far away in Holland; how
she could not even go to the funeral.
questions about another colleague and suddenly I feel I am dragged into the
mire of politics, which is perhaps similar to the issue of sibling rivalry and
all the ugly emotions that get stirred up when families and professions are in
cardiologist to materialise my mother mentioned the fact that tomorrow is
she had read my mind, ‘but your brother, F, came during the week with a huge
bunch of flowers.’
I was young. My mother told us
repeatedly then how she was not interested in Mother’s Day. It was a commercial ploy to get people
to send money, she said.
to agree. On Mother’s Day we feel
obliged to honour our mothers whether we want to or not.
mother on Mothers Day and my love for her, it would be marred by the fact that
the opportunity arrives on this one particular day of the year when someone
else dictates that I should honour my mother.
on Mothers Day.
small gift, but thereafter the day was as any other.
minds, they were less inclined to make a fuss in much the way I have not fussed
in relation to my own mother.
day? I’m not sure.
mere commercialism. They stir up
feelings of ambivalence in some. For others they might become a way of
fulfilling obligations, that one day of the year event. After that it seems we need not acknowledge our
mothers at all.
other side of a blog. In my dream
the exterocet was Internet speak for white space. Terrifying white space. No one had been there yet. It was the equivalent of hell.
there’s meaning there, if only I can unpick it.