VelvetDarkness
Polysyllable Whore x
- Joined
- May 24, 2006
- Posts
- 6,521
What I said at the funeral in the end.
Well, I wrote a few versions of what I might say.
"My mother was a proud woman.
She raised her children alone from a young age. She always worked as well, full time for most of our childhoods. She encouraged us to be independent in turn. She knew that she would become ill one day and was afraid that we would still be young when it happened. She tried to prepare us as well as she could for life without her.
As we reached adulthood and moved from home the parent/child roles gradually became reversed. Mum endured the first of her symptoms and a few early setbacks while we were still at uni. She told us nothing of what was beginning to happen to her, determined that we would finish our education. As friends and acquaintances began to withdraw from her erratic behaviour, she began to have problems with continuing to work and still told nobody in the family. It was a shock when we came home and saw how much her character and confidence had erroded. Her determination and stubborn refusal to have a negative impact on our lives, remained intact however.
Mum continued to live independently at home, right up until the day she took her life. She focused completely on what she was still capable of, both for herself and for her kids. She wouldn't accept more than minimal help and maintained her own dignity stubbornly at every turn. She had her cats for company and encouraged us to concentrate on our own lives. Mum would often say that she didn't raise us to be nursemaids and that the best thing we could do for her was to be successful and happy ourselves.
Mum had joked over the years about suicide and euthanasia. She swore that she would never end up an incapacitated, senile vegetable (the end result of her degenerative illness). She even talked about applying to work for MI5, so that she would be issued with a cyanide pill and could date Sean Connery. We admired her indomitable spirit but never imagined that she was being totally serious about her intentions. Mum had spells of depression and anxiety but they were usually, seemingly, short lived.
Our mother died as she lived, in an act of love towards both herself and her kids. She wanted to ensure that she was able to carry out her own wishes unaided. She was also utterly determined to become no burden to her family. We would have dearly loved to have had much more time with her and felt that mum was still in the early stages of her illness. We took her on holidays and to see places that she loved, like this one. Always she thought it might be her last trip somewhere, always we hoped that she was wrong.
As a family, we have to accept that mum had the right to take her life, to choose not to deteriorate into madness and incapacity. She has robbed us of time that we would have had with her, selfishly so. Mum, after all her years of sacrifice, earned the right to be selfish. There is no way to determine how long we might have had left with her and it will be some time before the happy memories outshine the painful ones. For myself, I can only acknowledge that mum had been planning this for quite some time, buying tablets in small quantities and hoarding them. Given her endurance through her suffering and the way in which she hung on to every shred of ability for as long as she could, given that she knew for years, since before my grandfather died that she would become ill in the same way, it is unlikely that anybody could have dissuaded her. She even arranged for the research foundation for her illness to examine her after she died, in the hope that her children might never develop the hereditary illness.
She will be remembered with love and admiration by all who knew her, particularly those who spent time with her during the last couple of years and watched her struggle daily with the relentless onset of the disease.
She rests at peace now, knowing that she has done what she thought best for her family at every turn. I will not disturb her with futile questions and reproach."
Bit long winded but I managed not to cry. Night all
Well, I wrote a few versions of what I might say.
"My mother was a proud woman.
She raised her children alone from a young age. She always worked as well, full time for most of our childhoods. She encouraged us to be independent in turn. She knew that she would become ill one day and was afraid that we would still be young when it happened. She tried to prepare us as well as she could for life without her.
As we reached adulthood and moved from home the parent/child roles gradually became reversed. Mum endured the first of her symptoms and a few early setbacks while we were still at uni. She told us nothing of what was beginning to happen to her, determined that we would finish our education. As friends and acquaintances began to withdraw from her erratic behaviour, she began to have problems with continuing to work and still told nobody in the family. It was a shock when we came home and saw how much her character and confidence had erroded. Her determination and stubborn refusal to have a negative impact on our lives, remained intact however.
Mum continued to live independently at home, right up until the day she took her life. She focused completely on what she was still capable of, both for herself and for her kids. She wouldn't accept more than minimal help and maintained her own dignity stubbornly at every turn. She had her cats for company and encouraged us to concentrate on our own lives. Mum would often say that she didn't raise us to be nursemaids and that the best thing we could do for her was to be successful and happy ourselves.
Mum had joked over the years about suicide and euthanasia. She swore that she would never end up an incapacitated, senile vegetable (the end result of her degenerative illness). She even talked about applying to work for MI5, so that she would be issued with a cyanide pill and could date Sean Connery. We admired her indomitable spirit but never imagined that she was being totally serious about her intentions. Mum had spells of depression and anxiety but they were usually, seemingly, short lived.
Our mother died as she lived, in an act of love towards both herself and her kids. She wanted to ensure that she was able to carry out her own wishes unaided. She was also utterly determined to become no burden to her family. We would have dearly loved to have had much more time with her and felt that mum was still in the early stages of her illness. We took her on holidays and to see places that she loved, like this one. Always she thought it might be her last trip somewhere, always we hoped that she was wrong.
As a family, we have to accept that mum had the right to take her life, to choose not to deteriorate into madness and incapacity. She has robbed us of time that we would have had with her, selfishly so. Mum, after all her years of sacrifice, earned the right to be selfish. There is no way to determine how long we might have had left with her and it will be some time before the happy memories outshine the painful ones. For myself, I can only acknowledge that mum had been planning this for quite some time, buying tablets in small quantities and hoarding them. Given her endurance through her suffering and the way in which she hung on to every shred of ability for as long as she could, given that she knew for years, since before my grandfather died that she would become ill in the same way, it is unlikely that anybody could have dissuaded her. She even arranged for the research foundation for her illness to examine her after she died, in the hope that her children might never develop the hereditary illness.
She will be remembered with love and admiration by all who knew her, particularly those who spent time with her during the last couple of years and watched her struggle daily with the relentless onset of the disease.
She rests at peace now, knowing that she has done what she thought best for her family at every turn. I will not disturb her with futile questions and reproach."
Bit long winded but I managed not to cry. Night all
