Mum passed away on 17th March 2018, but the last time that I saw her conscious was on 11th March, and it is this day that I regard as her last one. Another bereavement took place on the 17th, and I have not wanted my feelings about that date to be confused with those about Mum. This short piece, written on the day, serves mostly to muse about what I learned from the day, rather than to record its precise details.
The events of 11 March 2018 can be simply summarised. On Mothers Day, I was staying away, but not at any distance, and thought that I would call briefly in the morning, as my sister was visiting her in the “care home” that afternoon. I arrived to find her slightly confused, but receptive, but while I was there she began to sweat suddenly, and a care assistant decided to call an ambulance. By the time she had got to hospital, she was unconscious, from a stroke, and within two hours I was being told that there was no hope. A casual visit had turned out to be the final one. There is much more that could be written about that, but that is for elsewhere.
In her later life, I would often take Mum for days out, usually to some sort of visitor attraction. To mark “her” day now, I decided to take a day out, to places that she (and I) had known. This might be bittersweet, but it seemed appropriate, to provide reminders and, frankly, to be doing something on the day.
The weather, timing and fuel costs confined my wife and I to the Wirral; one feature was that outside Wallasey, I have less memories of visits, as most of the past trips with Mum had gone much further afield. An itinerary of the day would be tedious, so I will simply pick out four visits. Much of the trip re-visited places that I associated with Mum, some from my childhood, like the railway station at Neston, places in Wallasey where she lived and worshipped, and other local places that she knew.
We drove first to the cemetery at in which her ashes were interred, under the same stone that covered Dad’s ashes. Oddly, there were no other visitors to the gardens there. I cleaned moss off the stone, trimmed vegetation, and washed down the inscription, for which the lettering is beginning to fade, a reminder of time passing.
As with some of my trips with Mum, I had no clear plan, but passing West Kirby, we made our way to the car park above Caldy Beach. Here, nearly 20 years ago, just after my first wife had died, Mum and I had sat in the car looking out over the Dee estuary, when an older couple drew up and proceeded, not so much to scatter ashes, but to upend the container and pour them onto nearby vegetation. I remember how astonished Mum was to witness this, when I had shown her an identical container with my wife’s ashes. It was a sad incident, but as time has gone on, the oddity has come to dominate my memory.
We drove on to Parkgate, a favourite of both my parents, and went past the ice-cream shop, where we had sometimes stopped, and the modern housing that has been built into the former Mostyn House School. I recalled here one of our last trips, taking Mum from the “home” to see this estate as it was being completed. I had thought she might be interested – there was some sensitive conservation work there – but she just stared. The dementia had taken such a hold that, by that time, it was not clear what she could comprehend. Like a parent with a very young child, however, one can never be sure how something is being experienced, so I like to think that she appreciated seeing something different from the four walls of her room.
Our destination for a late lunchtime snack was to be a place which we had visited quite a few times – the Country Mouse restaurant at Brimstage Hall. Since 2016 renamed the Mouse at Brimstage, this was in a courtyard made of former farm outbuildings. Much had changed since our last visit with Mum, but the restaurant was still there. We found that this was too crowded to enter safely, so made our way, in some disappointment, to a little coffee shop in a corner of the courtyard.
This was far less busy, and felt safer – a consideration that I never recalled in Mum’s time. We found a table that had vacant tables on both sides, but it was not long before two older ladies came to sit at the next table – and talk. They were so uninhibited that it was inevitable that, without attempting to eavesdrop, I could gather much about the conversation. One friend or relative was dealing with her late husband’s ashes, and another had been on her own for weeks on end, with only friendly neighbours bringing her shopping. I suspect that the ladies were widowed too, and looking round, the other cafe customers were older ladies eating on their own. This brought me closer to Mum’s own position, as a widow for over 30 years, who remained on her own. It provided an unexpected reminder of the background to much of her later life, and I could only hope that my efforts and those of my sisters helped to relieve some of her loneliness, and made her feel special, albeit for only a short period. It reminded me that I had enjoyed the days out with Mum mainly because she was enjoying them, although she was often good company.
Re-visiting places can bring me closer to Mum – it was a trip that I might have made with her. Memories of previous encounters, and the changes that had taken place, provided both reminders and contrasts, showing the relentless pressure of time but also the resilience of memory, and the insights into feelings and experiences that can be evoked.
Postscript 24 January 2025:
The Mouse, as the Country Mouse restaurant had come to be called, closed on Christmas Day 2023, after 45 years. Another link with the past gone.
Joan Boughey Recalled 