Staying Mum
I keep thinking, just behind a door, there's you
Hello there my friend,
The call came at 7a.m. from the carers to come. I packed my bag with my laptop, a banana; Min made me a portable cup of tea. It made me think of the hospital bags women have by the door when they are about to give birth.
Once in her lounge, the hospital bed newly made, I waited until Mum stopped shaking and could drink her tea. She looked up at me, frightened. Tea had spilt down her top, but I’ve stopped worrying about the stains.
‘Are you staying?’ she said.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Oh good,’ she said.
I emailed the GP, they responded with a message to say they were sending out someone from the Rapid Response team. We would get a home visit from a doctor. I’d intended to write that day. It was my only clear morning to get into the new novel, but these interruptions are now part of my work, in fact they inform the shape of my paragraphs.
In her kitchen, I felt like crying, then told myself everything was okay, there was to be no death today. Some of her is still very here. Then back in the lounge, on the TV, we watched Richard Madeley discussing date rape drugs. His hair was still flicked, I quite enjoyed staring at its anti-gravitational swing. As he turned I could see it was ruffled at the back, still a bit of sleep in it.
Then ‘Lorraine’ came on, and I scrubbed the remains of a decaf powdered coffee off Mum’s landline phone. Lorraine had once described in an interview how the ‘Lorraine’ on TV was not her, but a persona. This had really made me stop to think.
For the third time I asked Mum if she was feeling okay?
Quickly, she replied, ‘alright Mum!’ A joke, her eyes glinted to let me know she was being ‘saucy’, as Nan would’ve put it. I can be rather matronly when dealing with her illnesses. Brusque and orderly, it’s how I become. Then I go all gentle, remembering it’s softness I want to quilt about the room.
Once Mum’d seen the doctor, and got the all clear, I headed home. On my way I thought of my friend’s husband in the Critical Care Unit at Kings Hospital, wired up to six computers, his hands in padded gloves so he couldn’t pull out the wires. I calmed myself by remembering life can be long, a month can feel huge. The phrase came to mind, Ars longa, vita brevis. It roughly translates as, "skilfulness takes time, and yet life is short." This is true for writing and one of its frustrations. Nearly home, beneath the friendly oak tree, I spotted a dumped bed base with a ripped lining exposing its wooden skeleton. It wasn’t there three hours ago. Why can I never witness the person doing the dumping?
After I got in, I took off my clothes and opened the windows. Then I checked the window ledge in the kitchen. The tomato seeds had sprouted, but it was the beetroot seedlings which were so vibrant. All purple and yellow, shooting up so fast and strong. They reminded me of a curvy woman who wanted to live fast, grow fast, thrive, like Chaucer’s The Wife Of Bath. Have sex, drink, smoke, sing karaoke and eat hamburgers. There’s no stopping her spirit. In the absence of having children, my drive to reproduce is strong. Words. Seeds. Laughter. Kisses on faces. Good moods.
Just to let you know, Mum has pureed meals for dinner now. Baby packs of mild curry with rice, or butternut squash risotto. Dementia has taken away parts of her cognition responsible for holding spoons, chewing, and sometimes how to swallow. All those things she taught me as a baby are now what we need to remind her of.
This happened quite quickly, and at first was shocking. But Mum is this person now, and yet through a glass door I can almost spy who she once was. I am not distraught about it, my HRT arrangements means I am more balanced than before. The tears I cry most days are healthy; I see them as keeping my pipework nicely descaled. And I talk to myself kindly, like I am the mother of me. Once I didn’t know how to self-soothe. All those sniping unchecked voices came at me like darts. Now, I can be Mum and if I am safe, then she is too.
I thought I would show you something I drew. Below is an ink on paper self-portrait I made for the exhibition HOLD FAST last year at the Copeland Gallery in Peckham. I hadn’t drawn myself since art college, and was interested in how I might exhibit life writing visually., rather than between the pages of a book. I was exhibiting alongside two very talented queer women, Louise Gray and Jane Dinmore.
The self-portrait is on sale here if you wish to have me nude in your house. For the show I also made a piece of video art for an installation about Mum, who then was ringing me over twenty times a day. Called ‘Hi Karen!’ the film is available to watch in my V.I.P Velvet Room for paid subscribers. The phone calls don’t come so often now, and I’m so glad I captured that time in this long journey to you know where.
This Self-portrait was shown at the HOLD FAST exhibtion, Copeland Gallery, Peckham in 2023.
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Love Karen xxx
P.S. and please do share this post if you like it…
Well that made me cry.
Loved it too.