Thank you Unsplash for the photo by Livia Widjaja
Written by Dave
My mother was 63 years old when a powerful stroke struck on the heels of a heart attack that left her without speech and reduced the use of her left side. A small portion of her brain had died. It was a traumatic loss and a strange juxtaposition for Jean, the obsessive talker and singer, not to have a voice. But in time, in a way only a creator can design, she also received a gift. It was barely noticeable at first. Over time it germinated, took root, blossomed, and bore her the most beautiful fruit right up until the moment she died.
The strength, nourishment and vitality of this gift added more life to Mom “than all the king’s horses and all the king’s men” could ever have. To me, this gift was a blessing, a blessing I call…Brenda.
The deficiencies caused by the stroke left Mom unable to care for herself, but we knew she wanted to remain in her home. We had to hire nurses to provide 24-hour personal care. Although Mom was comfortable in her home, financially, this was not sustainable, and we needed to find another solution. Ultimately, the answer to this problem came from Brenda, one of Mom’s caregivers. Brenda invited Mom to live with her. Brenda, Brenda’s family, and Sam, the dog, warmly welcomed Mom into their home and included her on family holidays and gatherings.
On the morning of Mother’s Day 2002, I was excited to be able to spend the day with Mom. Our first visit was to Brenda’s son Daryl’s house in Uxbridge. Mom’s adopted family was in full attendance, and we enjoyed a magnificent brunch with Brenda and her family.
Following that visit, Mother’s Day continued to be a delightful affair. Mom and I drove to Toronto, where we visited with our family, including my two older sisters and their children. The crowd was rounded out by spouses and boyfriends, filling my sister Pat and husband Karl’s little waterfront condo to the brim. After the festivities, my eldest sister Barbara brought Mom back home to Brenda’s, and I returned to my home in East York.
At about 8:30 pm, the phone rang. It was Brenda. I don’t know whether her voice was a bit off or some other consciousness touched me, but I had an eerie feeling. I felt the message that was to come.
Mom had passed.
In that haze that rolls over you when this kind of news hits you, I collected my sister Pat. We drove up to the Uxbridge Cottage Hospital, where sister Barb joined us to say our final goodbyes.
My mother, Barbara Jean, was a spirited, full-of-life lady who lived a vibrant life in her own way. I thought it poetic that of any day of the year, she would choose Mother’s Day to transition. She had spent a lovely day with her adopted family, children, and grandchildren. It was her day.
By the time Pat, Barb and I got to the hospital, Bob, Brenda’s husband, having reviewed some of Jean’s personal effects, produced a donor card. We knew sending her off to the University of Toronto Faculty of Medicine was the right thing to do, as was the case for my father years earlier.
In the days following, Pat, Barb and I had to plan Mom’s memorial. Scratching our heads for ideas and meaningful gems from her Salvation Army background, Pat wondered if Mom had left any wishes. Perhaps stowed in a safety deposit box, she pondered. We returned to Uxbridge with our family advisors, Jim and Reg, in tow.
At the bank, a clerk brought us a long slim deposit box from the vault and showed us into a private room. We opened the box revealing five sealed envelopes. Each envelope had a name carefully penned in Mom’s hand, one for each of us. There was an eerie tension in the room.
While alive, Jean was known for a surprise or two, and no one thought death would stop her show. Silently we opened our envelopes and read the personalized handwritten letters. I was the first to speak, “Well, I’m a good person.” I said, folding up my letter. Jim, standing across from me, retorted, “Me too.” All smiles, Pat, Barb and Reg chimed in with similar responses. While buoyed by the accolades of Mom’s thoughtful words, we hadn’t found any wishes for us to fulfill. Pat, who never leaves a stone unturned, asked Reg to confirm nothing was hiding in the box. As he lifted the hinged end of the box, we heard the sound of plastic sliding along the box and bumping to a halt at the other end. It was a cassette tape.
My siblings and I glanced at each other, eyes bulging in amazement, followed by mock panic. “Where will we find a working cassette player in this day and age?”
As it turned out, I had one. Pat, Barb and I returned to my house to listen to what Mom had to say. Hearing her voice for the first time in fourteen years was surrealistic. We could imagine our eccentric mother preparing to make this recording. She would have been accompanied by her whiskey and milk, cigarettes, a comfortable chair, candles lit, suitable music, and probably a fire in the fireplace.
Jean’s First Wish
Mom’s recording revealed three wishes. Her first wish was to donate her body to the medical community for teaching and research. She was a nurse, and using her body to pay forward to the medical effort aligned with her and Dad’s sense of serving others. Given we had already accomplished this, I looked at my sisters and said, “Done! Give us a check!”
Jean’s Second Wish
The recording went on, “I would like to have my wake held at Inglenook,” she said. Inglenook was the nickname Mom had given to her home (it means “a cozy place by the fire”).
This was a problem because her house was sold after she moved in with Brenda. Except….as luck, karma, or some unexplainable force of Jean would have it, the house had been sold again to the Low and Low Funeral Home. As if by fate, the Low family had built a chapel on the side of the home to accommodate up to 200 visitors at Inglenook, so Mom could celebrate her departure in style. Bob knew the folks at Low and Low and arranged to have a service for Mom that weekend. “Done! Give us another check!”
Jean’s Third Wish
Mom wanted to have her ashes thrown off the bow of the Bluenose. She had spent some of her formative years in Nova Scotia, and the Bluenose was symbolic of that life. After Mom’s wake, years passed, and the last of the three requests remained unfulfilled. I had picked up Mom’s ashes after the obligatory time at the School of Medicine and settled her in a suitable spot on my dresser. And there she stayed.
In the spring of 2004, Pat and Karl returned from a sailing adventure, and our family gathered for dinner. Pat announced, “I have three tickets for a day trip on the Bluenose.” We were all excited.
When Pat, Barb and I departed by car from Toronto, the only plan was to fulfill Mom’s request. Interestingly, this was the first trip my sisters and I had ever taken together as adults. It was the longest we spent together, without parents or children. A pilgrimage of sorts.
During the drive to the east coast, Pat suggested we try to find a long-lost cousin, Mary Jane, who we knew lived in Nova Scotia. We tried her last known number many times whenever we could find a public telephone, but without luck. As we reached Nova Scotia, we decided to try once more. Our voyage on the Bluenose was the next day, and we needed to get to Lunenburg. We stopped in Annapolis Royale, and Pat went to find a phone. Barb spotted a store that intrigued her while I waited outside.
Pat had no luck, so she and I went to retrieve Barb. We walked into The Lucky Rabbit pottery store, where we thought Barb was. But as we would find out shortly, Barb was at the store next door.
How fortunate our mistake. The lady at the counter looked familiar. Stunned, Pat wondered aloud. Could it be?
“Mary Jane?” Pat inquired. The owner of the Lucky Rabbit looked up. By accident or the mysterious force of Jean, we’ll never know, but we found her.
After a lovely but short reunion with Mary Jane, we continued our journey to Lunenburg. We found overnight accommodations to prepare for the morning’s voyage. We all wanted the experience of throwing Mom overboard. We needed to break Mom out of her sealed, virtually indestructible plastic case to divide the ashes. No simple task. Barb wanted to wrap Mom in a suitable newspaper and found a story featuring the Salvation Army. It was perfect, given Mom’s Army upbringing. With roughly equal thirds of Mom in hand, we were ready for the voyage.
Was throwing ashes off the Bluenose legal? I’m sure Mom did not care, and as we prepared to board, I recalled the brig on this boat could only hold one criminal, so I valiantly told Barb and Pat I would volunteer to go if need be. In the end, we each slipped our remains of her into the water, pausing with our private thoughts. I smiled as I thought, “Roll over Neptune, here comes Jean!”
Later in the voyage, with the Bluenose healing heavily, I remarked to the bosun, “Is this a great sail or what!” to which she replied, “This is the best sail we have had all summer!” I had no doubt that Jean was filling our sails that day.
When we returned to the dock in Lunenburg, we found Mary Jane waiting for us. She had driven across the province to ensure Auntie Jean had found her final resting home.
“Done! Check number three. Wishes granted.”
Epilogue
Having spent my life with Mom and witnessing a sense of her “gentle tug” during the “three wishes” journey, I know I will feel forever content that inside me, there is an indelible tattoo of her incredible spirit and influence etched upon my soul.