Dearest Alex, my mum.
I don't know what to say. How could you leave us? I know that you didn't want to. I know how much you fought to stay living. You kept fighting the cancer, and though you grew despondent sometimes, and would tell me that you were “having a bad day”, you kept on. You didn't give up, and such a stupid little thing like a blood clot kills you in the end. It's just not fair.
I am so lucky to have had you as my mother. You were the most compassionate, caring person that I ever met. After meeting you, my friends would tell me just how great you were. You really cared about people. You seemed to have a knack of getting people to talk about their hopes and fears, and complete unconditional care and compassion was offered to them.
You aspired to Buddha and Jesus, to be as compassionate and wise as they were, and I have to say that you really attained that. You used to tell me your dreams, and I would analyse them for you. The one where you lost Xara, and you were so worried about her in your dream. You kept searching and searching for her and you couldn't find her. And I told you that it was because you were concerned and anxious about her, and about how she was dealing with all of this.
I remember when I was 17 and the one time I ever lied to you. I was going over to a boyfriends place to stay the night, but I told you I was staying at a friends, and you called up and asked to speak to me, and my friends mother had no idea what you were talking about. All you had to say was that you were hurt and disappointed, and I never did it again. Being grounded was such a small price to pay.
I bought a DVD player so that you would have more viewing options. I remember in the last year sitting and watching the whole season of Secret Life of Us with you (courtesy of my friend Aleks Yap, who owned the DVDs). I bought you “Overboard” (Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell) because I knew how much you liked Goldie Hawn. And of course last trip to the USA I bought you your favourite, “The Secret Garden” on DVD, but I never got to give it to you.
My father, Walter, used to buy me dolls from around the world, but I was never that keen, so instead you took the collection, and started building on it. You always wanted an Amish doll, and I got that for you just before you died.
I know that you wanted to call your first daughter Gladys after your favourite character Gladys Aylward in your favourite book “The Inn of the Sixth Happiness” when you were a girl. I am so relieved that you got a doll instead. J
You never stopped encouraging me to be anything I wanted, which almost gave me too many choices, but you encouraged me to know myself deeply and honestly.
I am so sorry for the years where I was not around, and didn't call as much as I would have liked to. I am so thankful that I got an opportunity to move home and live you with in the last nine months (thanks to my friend Kelly, who helped make it as easy as possible).
I am so sorry that the people that I meet in the future will never have an opportunity to meet you, to know you. I hate that you died before you should have. I hate that you weren't here to see me married, with kids and all of that. I hate that I will never again be able to show you the clothes I bought today, to tell you about the good and the tough times that I have at work and with friends. People try to reassure me and say that you can hear me when I talk to you, but it's just not the same.
I was in a bookshop on Wednesday afternoon, and I saw a book you would have liked, and I went to buy it, and then I realised that I couldn't. Sure I could have read it, but I'm just not ready yet
I feel like I didn't hug you enough. That I didn't stroke you enough. That I didn't tell you that I loved you enough. But I know that you knew. I know that this afternoon is supposed to be a celebration of your life. It could be that I will be able to do that in some time, but I am just so sad. Grief is the price we pay for love.
I remember watching Four Weddings and a Funeral with you. And you said that when you died you wanted that poem Funeral Blues by WH Auden to be read out. I have slightly modified the gender, but otherwise left it alone.
You loved me first, and you were the first person I ever loved and this poem is how I feel:
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
She was my North, my South, my East and West,
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Scribbling on the sky the message She Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
And yet, there is good. You left behind so much happiness and joy, and the world is absolutely a better place for having you in it. I know that there a lot of people here that you helped and guided and listened to.
We once were talking about why there is suffering and pain in the world. I believe, and I think it reassured you, that we are born pure, but untempered. Life is a process of tempering and forging, until finally you are a shining sword. Over the past three years I have watched the final polishing of that sword.
Life is a battleground, and you were my homeground. My barracks. My safe retreat. My one sure place for finding love.
And love you back I did. And so did so many people. And what a lot to love.
Your fifth grade mathematics teacher said
“Intelligent and tidy in her work. A keen sense of fun occasionally impedes her concentration”
I can certainly imagine that lively child with infectious laughter.
Dave Briscoe, your mentor at Macquarie University said this:
“Alex was, and is, a very special person. I first met her in an on-campus session where I had provided dinner at the end of the day and a bunch of us were sitting around telling filthy jokes. Alex, with her peaches-and-cream complexion and more-English-than-the-English accent, listened demurely for a while. Then, apparently timidly, she said 'I know a couple' and launched into an hour of non-stop, utterly filthy and incredibly funny stories - all delivered with equal demureness. I still dine out on some of those jokes and I can hear Alex' laughter as I write this message.
What's the point of this recollection? I guess it is that she held a wonderful place in many peoples lives and will continue to exist in a very warm part of our souls.”
I think that I was exceptionally lucky to have such a person as my role model and my mother. Whenever I was asked who my hero was, it was always you. You were the most compassionate person I've ever met, and would give your time and energy to anyone who asked or needed it. You saw value in every person, and you taught me to do the same.
You were always up for a laugh, and I think you were much naughtier than you ever let on to us, your kids J. You set me an awesome example in how to love and to be loved and I will miss you so much.
My email signature has the following saying, one which I made up, and I realise now, that I learnt it from you.
Happiness is not something you can attain, it's a way of life.