Page 86 of Where She Is
Mum was only sixty-one years old. The doctor in charge explained how she’d suffered a second stroke. It was so intense her body simply shut down. He added she wouldn’t have known anything about it. I hope this is true. I couldn’t bear it if she suffered. As much as I keep telling myself that I’ll take comfortfrom that knowledge, I still expect her to walk through the door with some sort of arrangement for a night out. That was my mum. So full of life.
There seems to be a constant stream of people through the house. We may not have a lot of family members, but my parents have a huge social network. In the absence of knowing what to do and being able to help, neighbours arrive with homemade lasagne and pies. “It’s something for you to bung in the oven. It will save you worrying about what to cook,” they say. Food is the last thing on my mind. They mean well, so I graciously accept.
I visited mum’s body today at the chapel of rest. Initially, I didn’t want to go. I thought it would be better for me to remember her as she was, but dad wanted me there. To get this over with quickly, we soldiered forward with clammy entwined hands and tight-lipped smiles. My legs were weak. Every step we took filled me with dread and as I got closer, I swallowed harder to fight back my tears. What I couldn’t understand, as I stood over the coffin, was who this person was. The laughter lines under her eyes were not as visible as they once were, and the slight crease in-between her brow was no longer there. Her skin was smooth and wrinkle-free. Her hair looked… odd. Not how mum would have styled it. It was overdone and old-fashioned. Her favourite floral shift dress is the only recognisable part of her.
“Why is her hair like that? They’ve styled it all wrong,” I blurt out. My dad looks towards me, pained and bewildered all at once. “What do you mean?”
“Look at her. This isn’t mum. They’ve caked her in make-up and her hair is all… bushy.”
“Right… yes… I suppose it is a little bouffant.”
“Mum was never fussy about hair and make-up. She was naturally elegant. Don’t you think, Dad?” I wonder if I’m irrational until he reassures me of the opposite. “I do, darling.Shall we sort it out? Maybe we could find a hairbrush? Shall we try?”
“I think we should… or is that strange?” I ask, biting my fingernails to the skin.
“No darling,” he says rubbing my arm. “It’s what she would want us to do.”
I talk to mum the whole-time dad is away. It’s not the same, of course. I can’t listen to her soothing voice. She can’t comfort me, but I tell her all about Daniel, the day we met, our holiday in Cairns and how I’m sure I’ve found the love of my life. I hope she can hear me wherever she is.
“Are you all right, Dad? I was getting worried about you.” I ask when he slips back into the room all rosy-cheeked with wild hair.
“I nipped to the shops. It was easier than offending the funeral home.” He is thoughtful to a fault, even towards people he’s never met before and during the most painful time of his life.
“Thanks, Dad. I didn’t mean for you to go to so much trouble.”
“My darling girl, we can’t send your mum off looking like Sybil Fawlty, now can we.”
I nearly smile, “Perish the thought.”
I brushed out the persistent curls created by a stranger. As I stepped back to admire my handiwork, I notice again how mum’s complexion is different. The creases of time have slipped away and I suspect it has nothing to do with the make-up. My dad’s comforting arm around my shoulder startles me for a moment. “I’m sorry, my love, did I frighten you?”
I stand stock still as realisation sets in. The very essence ofwhat made her the person she was is missing. “It’s not her, Dad. It’s not mum lying there.”
“Shh, my darling. I know.”
I stare at the empty shell that transported her soul and spirit. My stomach swirls in turmoil as I take a step back from the coffin. My dad stays with her and holds the palm of his hand over hers.
“Daniel is outside,” he says almost in a trance.
“Is he?”
“He’s been out there the best part of an hour.”
“I wasn’t expecting him to come. He didn’t have to. I feel awful.”
“He’s a good man, Hannah, and it’s quite clear that you’re his entire world. That’s the way it should be. That’s how it was for your mum and me.” He leans over and gently kisses mum’s forehead. “Goodnight, my darling. Sweet dreams.” And with those words, he crumbles.
I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling as the sun pokes through the curtains. Daniel’s breathing is calm and I hope his dreams are happy. He has been incredible this week. There is no way I would have coped without him. I wonder if my dad and Daniel had a plan to get me through this with as little pain as possible. Dad has been pretty amazing and I can’t deny he has surprised me with his strength, but yesterday proved too much for him. It’s heartbreaking to watch someone you love fall apart. In my eyes, my dad is the one person I can rely on. Always my guardian, always so tall and strong. The small, frail man that sobbed over my mother’s body was unfamiliar. Now it was my turn to be strong for him.
I stretch my arms out and Daniel stirs. His hands reach for me and his smiling eyes appear from under heavy lids. “Morning,beautiful, how are you?” The side of his finger brushes my cheek, and I move forward to kiss him. His slow, gentle caresses is warm and loving as I nuzzle into his chest. His firm arms wrap around me. I feel cherished and protected. He is the strength I need.
“I’m dreading today.”
He rubs my back and kisses the top of my head. “I know. We’ll get through it.”
I gaze up towards him and his lips gently meet mine. I part them to show I want more than a gentle peck. Our tongues dance together as internally, my desire for him ignites my centre. Instead of giving into this moment, we lay together for a while longer before we have to get ready for my mother’s funeral.
Dad has decided today will be a celebration of her life. He requested we all wear something in mum’s favourite colour. She was always such a vibrant and warm person and her passion for all things orange reflects that perfectly. I decide on my orange pencil dress with a black jacket. The orange gerbera on my lapel also represents mum’s favourite flower. Daniel’s black suit and white shirt go well with his burnt orange tie. Before we leave the house, Daniel takes my hand and doesn’t let go for most of the day.
