Categories: uncategorized
Date: 16 September 2006 17:23:35
My mother came to London today - only for a few hours as she "didn't want to be late getting back".
I didn't recognise her at the station. It wasn't the haircut, although it is now straight and short and has changed the shape of her face. It was how small she looked on the seat; how her clothes hung off her; how pale she was. I also noticed that she now walks with a stoop, bent over, hunched shoulders. She's also become forgetful, not of things but of words. Her mind is active and working but too fast for conversation without repetition or stumbling over phrases and names.
She is adamant that she is fit and well, and she probably is, it's just not MY mother.
MY mother was always round, well built. Though small in height she stood tall with the deportment learnt through years of dance training when young. She had colour in her cheeks and her hair was not grey but brown and wavy. She fitted her clothes, and filled them. Now they hang, and she claims they've got bigger.
She enjoyed the walk along the Thames, lunch at Southwark Cathedral, seeing dancers tangoing outside Tate Modern. But the day seemed heavy and slow.
She's grown old, and I can see the tiredness of her body and realise that although we've never seen eye to eye; that we've had our moments of hate; our time together is passing whilst we're busy making small talk over coffee.