OCTOBER 2019| The Australian Women’s Weekly 151
S
o there’sjustDad
now.Livingin the
cottageat ourhouse,
stillsurroundedbythe
thingsmymotherloved
somuch.Clothesshehadcollected
throughtheyearsandrefusedtopart
with,strangelittleknick-knacksand
oddpiecesofjewelleryshe’dgathered
togetherin littleboxesalloverthe
house.Approximately 80 turtles–
notliveones,justornamentalones
she’dcollectedthroughoutherlife.
Theendlesscookingutensilsand
appliancesthathadn’tbeenused
foryears,andherWedgwooddinner
set,a survivorforall 65 yearsof
theirmarriage.
Mymumdiedquicklyandof
pneumonia– as86-year-oldwomen
withAlzheimer’s,post-stroke and
half-deadtendtodo.
Wehaven’treally
donemuchsincethen
exceptadjusttothe
subtleshiftin energy
aroundourhouse.
Onepersongoneand
a weirdemptiness
in whichtheeffort
expendedtocare
forher,particularly
bymydad,is no
longerrequired.
I wentoverseas
becausethetriphad
beenbookedand,
oncewe’dcremated
Mum,therewasn’t
muchtodo.
Atherrequest,therewouldbeno
funeral.Shehatedfuneralsanddidn’t
wantpeoplegettingupand“telling
liesaboutme!”Shewasanatheist
allherlifeandsohadnobeliefin
theafterlife,andknewthatonceshe
wasdeadshewasgone.Ashesto
ashes, dust to dust. She just wantedherashesscatteredonour
property,andperhapsa little
memorialgathering.
Sowedecidedtohave
thatin thesummerand,in
themeantime,I packedmybags.
I carefullyslippedMum’sopaland
diamondengagementringontomy
rightringfinger.It wasoneofthefirst
thingsI wouldhaveseenwhenI was
bornandit’sglintedat memywhole
life.It satonmyfingerandstared
at me,shockedanddismayedat the
newturnofeventsandthenewfinger.
I fiddledwithit,I twistedit around
andaroundandbytheendoftwo
longflightstoEuropewehadgotten
usedtoeachother.
ThenI addedjetlagtogriefand
foundmyselfcryingin allsortsofodd
places– overlookingtheGrandCanal
in Venice,standingin thequeueat the
supermarketin Santa
MargheritaLigure,
andswimmingat a
beachin Malta.
I don’trecommend
travelasa wayto
grieve– it doesn’t
work.It seemslike
a goodideatohavea
changeofscene,toget
awayfromit alland
startafresh.Butafter
threemonthsofworry
andstressandseeing
yourmumsufferthe
indignitiesofbeing
strandedaloneand
fearfulin a carehome,
youneedtobegroundedandsecure.
Youneedyourhomeandyourbed.
Youneedyourcatonyourlapand
yourdogsat yourfeet.Youneedto
hugyourkids,yourDadandyour
husbandforhours.Youneedto
surroundyourselfwith the familiar,
not the foreign.Nowback
at home,I’m
plantinga
memorial
garden.
Whenwe
haveher
memorial
after
Christmas,
it willnotbe
a smallaffair
andwewill
needvastamounts
offood.SoMum’s
memorialgardenwillhave
loadsofsaladveggies– rocket,cos,
Asianmesclun– readytobeharvested
ontheday.It willhavesomeJersey
Bennepotatoesthatwillbedugup
in themorningtomakeintopotato
salad.Therewillbetomatoesand
basil,tobejoinedbymozzarella
in othersalads.Andtherewillbe
capsicumsandcucumbers,tobesliced
andserved.It’sa bigask,growingall
thefoodin time,butI’mgoingtodo
it becauseit willgivemepurpose.
I’llalsoplantlong-stemmed
marigoldsaroundthecircumference
ofthememorialgardenbecauseMum
lovedthecolourorange,sowecan
putthemin vasesallovertheplace.
We’lldragoutmattressesand
sleepingbags.We’llputuptents
andshelter.We’llordercasesofwine
andthenwe’llcook.Legsoflamb,
legsofham,breadandsalad.
We’llscatterherashesandthen
everyonecandrinktohermemory
andleavethenextdayhopefully
feelingthatElisNissenhada
goodlife.
Andthey’lleachtakea turtleof
theirchoicetoputona windowsillor
sitona table– ormaybejustpopin a
drawer.Buteverytimetheylookat
it they’ll remember my mum.AW WAt journey’s end
Thedeathofanailing loved one may be predictable, but the grief that follows is not.
WithWENDYL NISSENPHOTOGRAPHY BY GETTY IMAGES.
Country diary
“I’ ll also plant
long-stemmed
marigolds
around the
memorial garden.
Mum loved
the colour orange.”