When you lose your mother...

Losing your mother at any age is challenging and hard to comprehend..

I lost my mother, Jasmine Ratnayake, last week. She was 93 years old and three months short of her 94th birthday. She passed away on 27th March 2023, ten years after my father, almost to the day. In death, as in life, they were together.

She had walked and managed her chores well until she had a fall about a month ago. Broke her hip and was taken in for surgery which I felt wasn't right for a 93 year old. But I had a persistent family member who insisted on seeking a surgical intervention in the hope my mother could walk again.

She was wrong.

I would have chosen to keep my mother comfortable in her own home, in her own bed, her injury attended to with Ayurvedic medication. Not that she was likely to walk again with ease but at least, it would have made her comfortable.

Instead, she had to suffer for almost a month, not able to muster the strength to recover from a deep surgical gash in her hip nor able to survive outside the hospital environment.

In the end, having not had the strength to recover from what was deemed very clinically a successful operation, my mother passed.

In death, she looked at peace - much more than she had been during the last few days, her face etched with pain, her body wrecked by countless needle pricks. There was nothing to prick ; she was already bony and the pain would have been excruciating.

Note to all those who think geriatric surgery will be successful ; the outcome is likely to be operation successful but patient didn’t have the strength to recover.

One week after the funeral, I sit and ponder at the memories. That’s all I’m left with, the youngest in a family of three girls.

My eldest sister, who is not married, devoted herself to my mother’s care. She endured countless hours of boredom and drudgery which comes with the territory of taking care of an elder.

The last few years had seen my mother’s mind slide into forgetfulness and the standard dementia downturn. At times, she would be angry, getting into pointless arguments and at other times, she would stay focused on a long lost detail that no longer mattered to anyone.

My sister and I sit with a cup of tea, trying to recollect and recall memories, even the simplest one.

My most powerful memory is of the rare day she stayed home from work. I would love to sit down to her cooking - her polos ( tender jack fruit) curry and dry fish curry were phenomenal.

My last memory of her is gently washing her time weathered hands at the sink, after she had her lunch. She could not bring herself to wash her hands throughly and I couldn’t watch her not wash her hands properly. I can still feel her hands in mine, the soap gently being lathered.

My mother loved to cross stitch - until her last years, nothing could keep her from sitting down with a good cross stitch design and thread to put together a stunning display of patience and skill.

My mother had green fingers. She loved to pot about in the garden - her favourite was creeping flowers that would bloom in tubers. She always loved to admire my roses, taking the time to admire them every time she came out to my tiny garden.

Back in the day, she was always what they called ‘ a working girl’ - she worked in insurance and I was always used to having a mother who worked. Which is how and why I always looked forward to the times she came to pick me from school or stayed home.

My mother was not all roses - at times, she was not the easiest to get along with. Having been an independent woman who brought home her own pay cheque, she could be stubborn even as a 90 year old. As my husband very aptly said, she often thought she was still young enough to make life changing decisions.

For those of you not in the know, the veteran actor Gamini Fonseka saw her where she worked and asked her to star in the Gamperaliya. My mother knew she was no actor and instead, recommended my aunt, her younger sister who was known as the Ceylonese Nutan ( a Hindi movie star popular in her day). But that didn’t work out since her husband-to-be didn't want her acting.

My mother and her sisters were called Devendra beauties of Embuldeniya back in the day - their stunning good looks were well known.

There’s much to tell - the little, the mundane but as I sit here and ponder, I realise it’s going to be a long long story if I do. So for now, this will do.

“Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.” - C.S Lewis