After 10 years of night classes and 1 or 2 courses here and
there my Mother moved into the city to finish her final 2 years of University.
It was stressful enough for me when I moved away for University at the age of
18, but she was 57 in her last year.
Always a source of pride and strength - my
Mother Convocated early in the spring with a degree in Theology, the last step
in fulfilling her dream to become a person of the cloth. She was also elated to
find that she was to be posted in a community only 5 hours away from our home
town and that she would be leaving for her new parish a week after her
ordination. Later in the spring, near the beginning of summer, my siblings and
I would fly home from all parts of the country to join our Mother at her
ordination.
We had a great time as always on our visits home especially
given that this was the first time we had all been home together since our
sister’s wedding and only the second time since the death of our Father. We
laughed and cried at all the memories that passed through the years and the
crazy and wild times that youth provided. Then one by one we all left to go
back to our respective places.
At the end it was just Mom and I. I had decided to stay an
extra few days to visit friends and family which also allowed me to see my
Mother off as she made her way across the island to her new home. The night
before she left I helped pack up her car and then we visited her last remaining
Uncle on her Mother’s side. He was a jovial man with a warm smile and a soft caring
voice to compliment, despite his many years battling cancer. Now in his 80’s and
free of cancer he had a very positive outlook and gave much praise to my Mother.
“If your Mother was only here to see you”, he said looking
at Mom, his voice weakening as he tried to continue. I recognised that same
struggle from my Grandmother when she tried to speak through tears. A trait
that was not passed on to my Mother, who simply stopped speaking when
overwhelmed with emotion.
After a cup of tea and some cheese and purity cream
crackers we called it a night. Before we left the kitchen her Uncle went into
the back room and returned with something in his hand.
“This was your Grandmother’s”, he said as he presented her
with what looked like a very small quilt. It had many different sized patches
and if you asked me I would have said it was blue in colour. As he unfolded it
I could see that it was fashioned into a bag of some sort with a shoulder
strap. My Mother knew instantly what it was. It was the old handmade bag that
my Great-Grandmother carried her bible in on her way to church when she was a
little girl and on into her late 60’s before she was so sick from Alzheimer’s
that church was no longer reasonable.
It was the bag my Mother remembered from
her childhood when she would attend church with her Grandmother. It was a bag
that - for my mother - was synonymous with church, and the early days of what
she felt was when she knew the Lord would play a large part in her life. This
brought tears to my Mom’s face, as she tried to tell us what it meant to her,
but overwhelmed with emotion she just stopped her futile attempts at getting a
few words out. She tilted her head to the side and smiled as the tightening of
her face pushed more tears from her eyes. I too began to well up inside and put
my arm across her shoulder and rubbed her back, so happy I was there to
experience it with her.
Afterwards we were accompanied to the door and exchanged
hugs and farewells, and her Uncle remained in the doorway until we were inside
the car and the car was started, “a loving gesture”, I remarked, making sure we
were safely aboard and on our way.
That night as Mom clued up the last few thing she asked me
if I would like to come and stay the night and perhaps a few days at her new
Parish. I thought that would be a lovely idea and of course said yes.
The next morning Mom got up and had a shower and prepared breakfast
for the 2 of us.
“How many eggs do you want?”
“2”, I replied.
“Do you want any oatmeal?”
“Yes please” I said.
She allowed me to sleep on the couch until the very last
moment until she said “Ok, it’s ready” and I popped up and joined her for
breakfast.
By the time the morning progressed and we had finished
packing the car it was evident there was no room for me and particularly
considering she had to pick up another passenger 3 hours into her drive. She
was disappointed I wouldn’t be going and I was a little relieved knowing I
wouldn’t have to travel 5 hours across the island. So we hugged and I bid her
farewell.
When I went back inside the house I saw the bag from the
night before and her bible obviously in it. I quickly ran out the door with it
and managed to whistle loud enough to get her attention. She stopped half way
down the lane and put the car in gear and backed up as the telltale sound of a
manual transmission in reverse broke the silence of early morning.
This all happened just as our next door neighbour - Mom’s
uncle on her father’s side was getting aboard his car with his wife and stopped
in our driveway to bid my mother a fond farewell.
“You’re gonna have a foggy one”, he said.
“Huh, that’s no surprise, I’m so used to this grey foggy
weather now this month that I wouldn’t know what to do if it was sunny”.
“Yes”, he began, “I’m leaving around noon to go out that way
to pick up a load of crab. The weather’s calling for fog all the way, now mind
you I’m not going out as far as where you are.”
“Well that’s too bad, you could have come out and been my
first visitor only for that”
“Yes, I s’pose”, her Uncle chuckled,
“but I’ll be passing through
there plenty enough this summer don’t you worry, just as long as you got a
place for me to park the truck”
“Well I dare say we’ll find somewhere to put that big ol
thing.”
“Alright then”, he said “well I got to go on, we’re on our
way out for breakfast down at the hall”
“Alright then, we’ll see you again”, Mom said as we both
waved goodbye.
Then it was our turn to say goodbye once more, she got out
of the car, still smelling new, and we hugged as the cold morning drizzle wet
her hair and brought a chill up my back. The car tires turned out onto the lane
crunching the pebbles under it, travelled down the lane and turning onto the
main road as I listened to the engine rev up and change into a higher gear.
I went back inside welcoming the warm of our home and went
to my room and got under the covers. In bed I thought of how nice it would be
to surprise Mom with a visit, so I alarmed the clock for 2 hours later. Time
enough to get back to sleep, time enough for her to get to her destination and
get settled before I arrive to help unpack and of course be her first official
visitor.
The disconcerting sound of my phone's alarm went off 2 hours later and I got up out of bed and went to the kitchen to boil the kettle. The weather hadn't changed at all, still drizzly and cold. Brutal considering it had been like this during my whole trip home, save for 5-6 hours one Saturday when the sun came out but the wind off the ocean kept it cold.
Within half an hour I had my bag packed for a short visit with my mother and I was on the road. There wasn't much traffic on the highway for a mid Monday morning drive, although I was going in the opposite direction of the city not to mention the fact that this crappy weather would turn a cat away from it's kittens.
On the part of the island that we lived we are divided from the main bulk of the island by a strip of land known as an isthmus. Being an island out in the the Atlantic the weather around the water had no trouble rushing onto the land and covering this isthmus with whatever it had to give. This being said it was always a bad place for fog and rain not to mention that years ago during the last iceage this area was the one of the last places that the glaciers melted, leaving in it's absence a conglomeration of massive boulders and oddly placed rocks that were once sucked up by the passing glacier.
For many miles this place is barrenous, nearly swept clean of life by the punishing winds off the water and the salty air. The grass here is always a heather colour, never vibrant, not much vegetation can survive in such a less-than-hospitible place. It's very rare to see animals in this area as well, not even the sea birds or crows inhabit this place, even the rocks are bare and for miles it's just a constant heather coloured mossy barren.
It was in this eerie section of the drive that traffic became denser, just like when an iceberg is seen off shore and people slow to gaze at it while still driving. Traffic going in my direction started to back up and in the oncoming lane traffic came in waves separated by what seemed like 2 minute intervals. At this point I knew something was going on, it was probably construction or an over turned transport truck because in such a desolate place there were certainly no attractions.
As I crested the next hill I could see that there was a traffic accident. No wonder, I thought considering the weather and where we were and like always, whenever I come up on the scene of an
accident I pray. I prayed for the safety of those helping the victims and for
the lives of those involved and for the lord to watch over them in this time of
peril.
Getting closer to the scene the traffic slowed to a crawl. Looking out
the window onto the ground you could see the contents of a vehicle. Books and
clothing strewn about, a few bottles of water and the kind of Tupperware
containers my mother used. I could see broken pieces of CD’s, a sun visor,
pieces of plastic from a car: probably from the front or rear fender.
When I got closer to the sirens I found I was able to
identify a lot of the bits and pieces from the wreckage. I chalked it up to my
familiarity with cars and ordinary everyday things until I saw something that
made my heart sink. It made me instantly sick and I nearly passed out right
there and then in that convoy of slow moving traffic. It was the old patched
handbag that my mother put her bible in, the very handbag that I had packed for
her some hours ago before her journey across the island to her new Parish.
