Still a Mother

The darkness of the room was comforting, all the better to see that small screen. She had been anticipating this day since she booked it a few weeks earlier, finally able to see her precious baby. Her excitement was obvious in her expression as the details slowly appeared, a spine, a heartbeat, a face. She was so engrossed in the magical images, that she didn’t notice the frown on the sonographer’s face.

He did, however. He missed nothing. He didn’t wish to upset her, so sat quietly beside her while they waited for the doctor, holding her hand in both of his and hoping she did not feel his anxiety. Perhaps he had misunderstood, and seeing the doctor was normal. They hadn’t done this before, after all.

She couldn’t remember the name of the problem that the doctor told her. It didn’t matter anyway. All that mattered were those words that came after – incompatible with life. They hit her like a punch in the face. Her baby would be born, and then die.

And then they asked her to make a choice. End it now, or wait until Mother Nature called the baby home. What sort of choice was that? Not one that any mother should have to make, that’s for sure. She certainly couldn’t. That was Nature’s choice, not hers.

Did she have any questions?

Questions? Questions? How could she ask a question in that moment? There was only one, but it could never pass her lips. How exactly does one live with the knowledge that your child, your desperately awaited, precious baby, safe inside you, with beating heart and dancing limbs, was already condemned to death?

Her mind spun in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. She lashed out at her husband for the slightest detail, then dissolved into weeping a moment later. She sat and stared for hours on end, looking at nothing but feeling everything. Why? Why her baby? She had done everything right. All those recommendations, she had followed every single one, down to the letter. She felt the fluttering movements, she saw and heard the heartbeat. There was life! Maybe she would wake up and all would be fine. Yes, a nightmare. A prolonged, excruciating nightmare. That’s what this was.

One small phrase finally created some sense of acceptance. “You are still a mother.” One little comment, she couldn’t even remember who said it, that made sense of the situation. Mother Nature may rob her of her child soon enough, but she could never rob her of motherhood. She could never take away the magic feeling of a life moving inside her, the immense love of a mother towards her child, the gift of life, no matter how brief. She would nurture and protect this life, as any mother would, until Nature’s call could no longer be ignored.

Death did not frighten her. It hurt. Oh, did it hurt. But she had the courage to pull her through.

To Borrow Freedom

The sound of galloping hooves echoed distantly in Sandra’s head. She turned to look, an instinctive reaction, yet she already knew that there was nothing there to make that sound….only twittering birds, annoying buzzing insects and the odd small lizard skittering through the undergrowth. She’d heard this sound before, many times in this place – her place, a place that only she knew about, her quiet hideaway from the stresses of life. Occasionally, the hoof beats would be accompanied by a shadow, or a flash of white brilliance, a flicker in the corner of her eye, but when she turned to look, there was nothing. The spirit, however, what she could feel, was unmistakable. He was there, no doubt about it. 

Everyone knew the legends of course. A ghostly white horse, running wild and free in the scrub, said to appear every few years to entice young maidens from their homes, with the vain hope of riding high upon his back, then lead them to their deaths in the wild bushland. Some sort of Pied Piper routine. But those were just stories, weren’t they? Every town had its folklore, after all. 

Sandra tossed her fiery curls, and closed her eyes, listening for those distant hoofbeats, trying to find their bodiless sound in the white noise around her. She knew that the more you tried to find him, the quicker he vanished, but she could feel him in her soul – he was nearby. Yes, there was the sound, closer this time, carried to her on the light whispering wind that brushed her face and breathed hello as it went. She kept her eyes closed, enjoying the peace of her tranquil hideaway, imagining the majestic creature who owned that sound.

He was tall and powerful, with a snow white coat, long flowing mane and a tail held proudly aloft as he ran. He exuded an air of indestructibility, daring anyone to challenge him. His legend had been passed down for generations, keeping his magic alive. That was all he needed to exist – just one believer. The more who believed, the stronger he became, but one was all he required.

Sandra caught the familiar scent of horse wafting on that gentle breeze. That was a new phenomenon, something she’d experienced only recently, for perhaps a week or two. She’d been lucky of late, managing to spend a little time in her special place every day, giving her the opportunity to let him into her soul, to blend their two psyches as one. The lazy summer days afforded her freedom compared to the busy weeks of springtime, although the summer harvest would soon be upon her, filling her days and keeping her away once again. 

She felt his presence in her very core. He always arrived so unobtrusively, gradually filtering into her consciousness, barely noticed, like the changing of the tide. He never spoke to her directly, using images in her mind rather than speaking to her in words. Sometimes he would simply lead her thoughts in the direction he wanted them to go. She was happy to be led. She enjoyed the images and feelings he gave her, finding peace where others might feel violated. He had a straightforward mind, steadfast and strong in its simplicity, easy to please but definite in his wants and needs. Sandra often found herself wishing that her family were like him – no uncertainty, no untruthfulness and certainly no deceit to be found. It was refreshing to find such an open, honest, unadulterated mind. 

Suddenly, the galloping sound was right in front of her. She hurriedly sat up and opened her eyes in a brief moment of panic, fearing that she would be trampled under his mighty tread. The sound abruptly stopped. Sandra’s heart fell. He’d gone. She’d ruined the moment. 

A soft nicker murmured from behind her, followed by a gentle nudge against her back. She started with fright, then froze for a moment, wondering if this was real, then turned ever so slowly, afraid that he would vanish at any moment. As she gazed upon him for the first time, she could not believe what she saw. She felt her excitement grow as she realised he truly was standing right in front of her! The Legend of the Scrub was right here, right now, with her. Sandra. Plain, boring, normal Sandra. She’d never heard of anyone actually seeing him – at least, not outside their dreams! She trembled at his commanding presence, completely in awe of this magnificent beast. He was exactly as she imagined him, flawless white coat, snow white mane and a long, flowing tail held proudly aloft. Tiny rainbows danced across that dazzling hide, playing an intricate game of hide and seek with the twilight shadows of the sunset. His snow white mane glittered in the evening light, slightly tousled by the breeze which gently ruffled it. Sandra knew what he was there for. In her mind she saw herself, astride his broad back, riding the wind along with him. 

It was the most invigorating, uplifting thing she had ever experienced. The power he exuded was immense, almost overwhelming, yet at the same time he was gentle and cautious in his way. She felt his muscles rippling and bunching as he ran, the sound of his hoofbeats matching his stride, although from the images in her mind Sandra knew they weren’t touching the ground. She daren’t look down to find out. She revelled in the feel of the wind in her face, her fiery hair billowing out behind her like a stream of flames. This was as close to flying as she could possibly imagine. 

She thought the horse a true enigma. So many contradictions! To know he was real, and yet not real, there but not there, the stuff of fairy tales, and yet here she was, upon his back, revelling in the feeling of complete and utter freedom - for that is the true magic of the equine. To ride upon one’s back is to borrow freedom, if only for a time. She didn’t need an enchanted horse to know that. She experienced it every day. Although, definitely not like this. This was something else entirely. 

She felt him slow as they returned to her quiet place. The dusky evening sky had given way to a starry, moonlit night, the moonlight creating wonderful new reflections on his pure white coat. She felt a pang of disappointment at the idea of dismounting from that magnificent broad back. It meant she would have to return to her life, to daily routine and everyday stresses. It was one thing to borrow his freedom, but to have to give it back……how could she go back? Somehow she knew that if she did, she’d never again hear his call. They had bonded on that magical ride, in a way she did not really understand. How could she return to normality after that exhilarating ride? She’d yearn for that freedom forever and a day…….and her soul would be empty without him. She could not. 

And so, the legend was true – he did lure young maidens from their homes and their families. Not to their deaths as the townsfolk believed, but to a magical freedom that no earthly being could ever know. Sandra smiled as she and her newfound partner turned and galloped away, shimmering in a glorious shower of stars to blend flawlessly into the dark night.

I thought I would start  off with a poem. I'm not really a poet at heart, but sometimes something half decent will squeeze itself out of my brain. It's a topic close to my heart - one of my "real jobs" is that of an aged care RN, working in dementia units. This poem reflects the sentiments of so many people that I have met on the dementia path. Anticipatory grief  is a very real phenomenon.

 A Mother Lost

 

She is gone, yet she is still here.

Her dreaded diagnosis, our deepest fear.

Months ago, we lost her mind,

Though her body remains behind.

Her heart still beats, her lungs still breathe,

Her eyes still see, her veins will still bleed.

The haggard face, wrinkles and lines,

Once beheld a sharp, strong mind.

A cruel disease took the mind away,

No longer the person we knew yesterday.

We watch her struggle with basic tasks,

Almost as though she wore a mask,

That hid from view the person we knew,

And forced us to get to know her anew.

The smiling eyes we once knew are no more,

Fear and confusion, have now come to the fore.

She knows not who we are anymore,

Which rocks us all to our very core.

We know not who she has become,

But still we search for our precious Mum.

A glimmer of that soul whom we hold so dear,

Surely a small piece of her is still here?

That's all we ask, just one small trace,

Anything at all, that this disease can't erase.

This loss is a feeling like no other,

This unknown imposter who once was our mother.

It's the cruelest road, a difficult path,

That leaves many tears in its aftermath.

How do you grieve for someone you hold dear,

When their soul is gone, but their body still here?