Categories
Letters

Eulogy

I have been living in England for many years, and the unfortunate reality is that I could not attend my mother’s funeral today [in Melbourne, Australia].
I don’t know how to eulogise over a life.
Lives are grand and it becomes insufficient to surmise.
To love my mum is an understatement and never accurate.
The vast conflicting relationship I had with mum was of symphonic proportions with dynamics and dissonance intertwined with harmony and chord progression. A waltz with provocation and play. She was a hard masterpiece.
But there is no life without conflict, and be it anger or happiness, my mum had a way to be influential. It had seemed from an early age that I had differences with mum, but as I grew older, I saw such strong similarities.
At ten days old I was adopted, and according to mum’s tales, I was chosen outright without question by her. How fortunate is that?
I may not be of blood lineage, but the fact that with my family, mum never was anything else. She was mum.
She had her ideas. Her way of thinking. Her own pursuits. She persevered to accomplish a life she sort for. It is what made mum Marian, a force to recon with by a strong power of thought, progressiveness and association. She endured bitterness and family breakups. She had some opportunities that went a little way as they were restricted due to location and absence from the workforce.
Smart, intellectual and groundbreaking, mum had found foot-holes in cliff-faces of adversity. She made way for herself to pursue her spirituality and education, even after a life of domesticity and urban life.
She shocked, angered and disagreed. She laughed, toiled and traversed: she was true to herself. That is hard to be in life.
Whatever she believed in (and I *do know* what she believed in) there is always something reminiscent of her will that is extraordinarily powerful.
She remains one of the most influential people of my time. She challenged the status-quo, and I am grateful for her in sharing this with me. She had never taken a step back, instead she pursued many steps forward.
It comes with sadness that her thoughts are now gone. It comes in grief of her voice not being heard again to express those thoughts. It comes in relief that she is not in pain. It comes from gratitude that I remember her, but not her as she is to herself. That is gone forever.
Goodbye mum.

 

(for Marian Kirkwood, 1936 – 2018)

Categories
Poetry

Good Riddance

I hope you’re freezin’

Down in your guts

Pushed by rough guides

Who’ll give your soul

For quids.

Beneath the sod, it traps you

As we spit on your spirit

And laugh at heaven’s

Hatred of you.

Give up squirm!

Collapse in a belief

That we who are left

Are proud.