Death In The Morning

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It was a morning like every other morning. I crawled out of bed to the sound of the alarm, 5 am to prepare for my 35-kilometre journey to work. At the time, I was working in Bangkok and though I didn't start until 8:30, the traffic and the distance necessitated an early start.

After a quick shower I dressed and prepared to leave when I decided to check my email. 
And there it was as bold as brass. Title : Mum has died.

 It took a second or so to register. I wouldn't say disbelief, for it wasn't totally unexpected she was 86, but a surreal feeling of being momentarily detached. My mother was dead, full stop, end of a story.

I spent years wondering how I would react when one of my parents died. The moment had come and to be blunt it wasn't the way I expected. After the initial surprise ( my brother sent the email and is always direct and straight to the point) I gathered myself and went to work as usual.

Never being close to my mother, I had over the years minimal contact. When I lived in Adelaide I would go visit my parents maybe 3 to 4 times a year, for half an hour or so. Anything longer and we used to get on each other's nerves, never seeing eye to eye. Arguments broke out easily, the visits were literally short, sharp and shiny. We just never connected as adults, let alone mother and son.

Anyway, I found myself spending that day thinking about possibilities. What if  we had been close? Would my reaction be different, how different? What if she had died 30 years earlier? Does your own age dictate the way you react?  Lots to ponder and reflect on. 

More importantly, that day I thought about my own childhood, when I was young and my mother wasn’t an old lady. I remembered things I hadn’t thought about for years. Little things that don’t really matter, but reminded me of the tenuous link we shared as mother and son. She wasn’t a natural mother and in hind sight I think she struggled with her 4 children’s upbringing. Not to say she neglected us, we had more than adequate food, shelter and was looked after, but she lacked an emotional connection with us all - empathy. She was mechanical in the way she did things and that extended to the way she brought up her children. I assumed she loved us, but I never felt it. Nothing was ever said or done to demonstrate it or if there was; I just don’t remember.

The reflection only lasted a day and then life went back to normal for me.

As the old adage goes, we are a product of our upbringing. I look into a mirror these days and see my mother’s face as I get older. I notice the way I act at times is the way my mother did; the way I detested as a youth. We should all learn by our life’s mistakes, though fighting powerful inherent forces that lie within is not so easy. 

It’s interesting to talk to others about this. Some feel it's strange that I never grieved about her death, in fact I was and remain rather neutral in my feelings; somewhat empty. She occupies my thoughts only when something reminds me of my youth. Like all of us, unless we become famous we are only remembered through living memory; children and maybe grandchildren then forgotten for all eternity. In the grand scheme of life, individuals mean very little, the specious propagates unabated through numbers until itself is eventually replaced by something more adept to life.

And circle of life continues on.

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on a carousel of time…

Joni Mitchell  1968

     

A Moment In Time

The Fish Pond

The oval shaped fishpond stood there quiet and serene as the early rays of sunshine pierced the outer layers of the glasshouses exterior. The crisp cool morning air settled deep within my lungs as the shadows and light intermingled on the flat undisturbed water, playing with each other as the Lilly Pads watched on.

 They always did this, I observed, whenever the morning sun was able to break through the gloomy winter cloud. The many pads large and small spread out over the water’s surface, green flat circular serving plates awaiting the day’s meal of sunlight.

 Only a single delicate white flower broke the sea of green, the belle of the ball looking to be asked to dance but alas all the likely suitors were preoccupied, a symbolic wallflower.

 Most of the activity this morning was below the surface. The small silver fish, amphibians and invertebrates stirred into life, darting here and there looking for security under the giant Lily pads as the light penetrated all the way to the  bottom of the red concrete pool.

 All this was happening as a young couple stood in deep thought on the far side. A moment in time shared with some strangers.  Never to be repeated.

A Rat's Life

The sun slowly set over the deep dense green jungle and beyond, the crest was slowly being devoured by the ever- darkening aqua blue sea; time to become active. The household would soon be quiet.  The human occupants go to bed early as they get up before dawn to work in the adjacent plantation.  Their footsteps are a constant reminder that danger is not far away. Though having said that Ratso did feel rather secure in the space below the wooden floorboards where there was only enough room for his friends, family, insects and the odd spider or two.  This didn't mean it was always harmonious, oh no siree, many a time there were scuffles over territory and food.  Ratso and his family easily outmuscled the others and had done so for a long time now; maybe 6 months or more.  No, the only thing they were really concerned about were the humans above.   Making too much noise could prove fatal.  Too many fights or scuffles amongst the underfloor occupants would result in some form of human intervention. 

Over time members of the family and other clans would go out hunting for food and never return.  Rats' memories are not very long so, they were soon forgotten.  The daily struggle for life saw to that; no point worrying about others when your own survival was at stake.

The security of living under the floor boards had its downside, the heat was stifling always and it wasn't possible to leave during the day to find relief.  The cover of darkness proved the only safe refuge for scavengers like Ratso; true kings of the nocturnal household travelling far and wide to find nourishment for themselves and their families. 

The humans help a lot, of course.  They are the perfect species to be living with. Not very clean, they leave plenty of food scraps for the family to eat: a reliable all year round supply that never dried up. 

The muffled sounds of the humans above, dimmed into nothingness as the last of them went to sleep.  Waiting for another half an hour to be certain, Ratso started his nightly routine by forcing his body through a small gap between the skirting and the floorboards. The kitchen was in a greater mess than usual, plenty of pickings tonight.  

Saturday night was party night.  The human occupants didn't have to work the next day, so enjoyed an evening of free flowing beer, food and music. 

Ratso raised his long triangular nose to the air and like the king of rodents he was, perused the multitude of complex odours that hung in the air. One simply delectable smell caught his attention.  A strong sharp pungent irresistible  odour drew him to a corner of the house he had never previously ventured to.  So powerful was the urge to get to it that he ignored the usual offerings he would normally indulge in. 

Total darkness wasn't a hindrance when it came to finding food.  A keen sense of smell was all that was needed.  This delectable rat perfume was irresistible and drew him trancelike to his final destination. 

He hardly noticed the long steel tubular frame, but as his front paws reached up to finally grasp the prize that awaited him, the snapping sound of metal on metal brought him abruptly back to reality.  Turning quickly to escape, he realised the entrance was no longer there.  Confusion reigned as he ran around in circles in a fruitless exercise for freedom.   

The first glint of sunlight graced the tops of the trees like a sleepy ballerina  trying her first movements out for the day.   Foot steps from in front of the house purposefully strutted down the side path. A hand appeared from nowhere and Ratso suddenly became airborne inside his steel prison.

A loud splashed followed and Ratso felt his fur being penetrated with frigid river water, while a cold shiver of fear ran down his spine.  Lungs engulfed, bursting, struggling to obtain air. Head arched back, legs rotating at a furious rate, frantic mouth movements; then a calming gentle realisation, the feeling of giving in and enjoying the last sensation of settling onto a cushion of the finest duck feathers, sinking deeper and deeper until there was nothing else to remember. 

Rattus Rattus

    

Nearing The End

The old man was finding it difficult.  The sun was strong and unrelenting and it made him stop and pause frequently.  His back ached, a reminder of the time things were easier working in the field.  A time he could work all day and feel nothing other than the satisfaction of taming the land to feed his family.  Those days had long gone and the arrival of his eightieth year was being etched on his mind with every jerking movement of the plough. 

Oh how he wished he didn't have to do this anymore.  Life had not been kind, his wife Betty  and child Tam had died many years before, during the year of the Spanish flu.  He was spared and the bitterness had stayed with him all those years.  "For what?” he had asked himself countless times.  “To work like a slave on the land;  to exist without a reason and  live on in despair until the Grim Reaper came to get me as well.”  

Memories now flooded his mind; the promises of  youth, a wife and children with future prosperity.  He could see them now, even fifty years later, his young son swinging on the branch of the old quince tree, his wife looking so beautiful, tending the vegetable patch she loved so dearly.  She always loved to watch things grow, his son and the plants, so the farm was a gift from heaven as far as she was concerned.  Heaven had claimed her in her twenty eighth year.  

How grand the plans had been; work hard and stay focused on the promises the future would bring.  Only one problem, it never did, never arrived.  Death and poverty had haunted him all his life.  

He sat down underneath the old blue Gum.  The sun was now pounding his head into confusion.  Sweat covered the grey pallid look on his face.  How could something so beautiful have gone so wrong?  His heart told him it was now near.  He looked up at the vivid blue cloudless sky and saw the future looking back.  A flicker of a smile appeared through the tears as he looked skyward.  "Betty my darling, oh how I have waited so long for you."  He closed his eyes for the last time.  Release had arrived.