After living independently so well, for so long, my mum suffered a stroke some time ago now. That night my sister phoned me from the Bundaberg ICU to let me know Mum was not expected to make it through to morning. Being six hours away I asked to speak to Mum before I jumped behind the wheel to head north. She was barely conscious but experiencing brief moments of clarity. I decided to shower her with as much love as I could muster.

“Mum, I love you so much, you have been the best mother a kid could wish for. If you need to go now, its ok, don’t worry about us. You have done so much for us all and we love you more than you could imagine. Thanks for being there throughout our lives. You are the best mum ever.” 

To which my mother casually replied, “Yeah righto, don’t lay it on too thick.” That comment summed up my mum perfectly. Audrey just got on with life, loved all her family, accepted everyone we dragged through the door, and at the very least offered them a ‘cuppa’ and a welcoming chat.

If I had a lousy day Mum would say “I’ll make a cup of tea.” When my sister’s marriage broke down, Mum was there with, “I’ll make a cup of tea.” When I gave up a ‘bloody good career’ to become a poet, Mum just raised her eyebrows and offered, “I’ll make a cup of tea.”

These days, Mum can’t make a cup of tea for herself, let alone anyone else. Audrey mostly lays prostrate in her nursing home bed, while the sounds of television, clinking cutlery, and vacuum cleaners echo through the brightly lit and generally happy hallways and rooms. The carers know mum’s name, they feed her, hold her hands briefly, and together with my sisters, make sure mum gets the attention she deserves. She eats in the dining room when she can, attends singalongs, bingo, and those special occasions in the community lounge such as Easter, St Paddy’s, and Valentines Day. Together, these characters ensure that caring for the elderly, although time-consuming and sometimes difficult, can be dignified. 

When my wife Julie and I visit, we call the night before, so the staff have mum saddled up in her wheelie bed, ready for me to zoom her through the corridors, outside into the streaming sunshine, up the road and out, under a shady tree that has her looking back at the nursing home that she hates relying on. There we pluck and smell the leaves and petals off the nearby flowers and shrubs, toss some crumbs to the little minor birds, and dream back to those days when a nice hot cup of tea solved everything.

So this Mother’s Day, why not boil the billy for your mum, whether she is there or not.

…and though I’ve sought to travel, collecting unheard tales,

from strange and distant places where I roam,

I would trade them all tomorrow for a country mother’s love,

and the promise of a day with her at home.