I went around to see Nanna this afternoon. I didn’t tell her I was coming and relief flooded across her face when I walked through the door. Nanna is normally an impeccably dressed lady, but she was still in her nightgown.
I took up my normal position on what has become a two-way counselling couch, lying on my back with my feet up, facing her in her old lady chair. The natural order has been broken. Nanna was never meant to bury her son. She feels isolated and alone. Nanna is also scared and vulnerable; she has always had men look after her. When Poppa died 10 years ago Dad took over. He did everything for her from banking her cheques to changing her light bulbs. She’s petrified; her only living son lives on the other side of the country in Cairns. Who can she count on now? Of course she has us, but no matter how much I tell her that, she can’t be sure of that - we are her extended family. Her core family who she has spent most of her life with - Dad, Poppa and her youngest son Robert - are mostly gone.
I stayed for hours, she smoked like a train and we talked about everything from life to death. These are dark days for our family. We have never experienced anything like this before.
Written on 08 May 2004
Over 7 years since incident
Tags:
Mother's day, Sandra's story
There are no comments yet.
If you log in, you will be able to add comments here.
