An ode to the single most relevant type of human being on the planet - the mother

This is a poem by Seamus Heaney called "While all the others were away at Mass". My 17 year old daughter Emma voted for it recently in the Poem for Ireland initiative. It's a breathtakingly beautiful poem. Have a read of it. It's very appropriate as we get near to Mother's Day. When you have read it, please have a read of the reflection on it written by my daughter - it too is breath taking and full of courage. 

WHILE ALL THE OTHERS WERE AWAY AT MASS

When all the others were away at Mass
I was all hers as we peeled potatoes.
They broke the silence, let fall one by one
Like solder weeping off the soldering iron:
Cold comforts set between us, things to share
Gleaming in a bucket of clean water.
And again let fall. Little pleasant splashes
From each other’s work would bring us to our senses.

So while the parish priest at her bedside
Went hammer and tongs at the prayers for the dying
And some were responding and some crying
I remembered her head bent towards my head,
Her breath in mine, our fluent dipping knives–
Never closer the whole rest of our lives.

Emma's thoughts on the poem 

I had to wrench tears from my eyes as I read Heaney's bereaved stanzas, ironed out in unrepressed wistful sadness. It is a very real fear, losing one's mother and it prevails even before we have grasped what death is, in the clutch of that desperate desire for intimacy that Heaney so artfully elicits. I recall grasping at the fogginess of youth for those crystallised memories, incidents, anecdotes, monumental moments to cradle for comfort if she lost that hospital bed-bound battle and left me with a two year old to convince of her existence, once upon a time.

For as much as we might quarrel with them, cast disgruntled glances, warning shots at them across a room (in the naval battle of making tea); a mother is something precious.

For me, Heaney’s poem captured that often unstated tenderness amid the tumult of growing; the moment of mutual affection that manifests in trading a tube of Pringles, munching over dialogue, being taught the inner workings of an avocado, debating the prudence of bananas in a smoothie.

This poem spoke to me because I carry that fear of losing my mother constantly - every blip on her health radar, every hospital stay, every infection……. There’s an intimate familiarity that accompanies the word cancer, and to all the furious tears I have streaked into hoodies.

I love baking with my mother, even though she’s an utter, unabashed dictator when it comes to the precise operation of an electric whisk, because I think that I will remember those burned cookies, that delicious chocolate fudge, the joy she’d take in smashing pistachios with a rolling pin forever.

Mothers are mythical creatures, with the wisdom of Athena, the beauty of Apollo, holding the endless ire of Zeus in reserve for matters as varied as:

·         other people who dare to use the road in a less than pristine fashion,

·         lightbulbs,

·         the grubby inside of the oven,

·         carol singers,

·         bananas,

·         invading hoards of eight-legged hell hounds (also known as spiders),

·         and, most vehemently, anyone who attempts to harm the insolent beings she expended hours ushering from her womb.

For me, “While the others were away at Mass” is a worthy champion of Irish poetry, and an ode to the single most relevant type of human being on the planet – the mother!

End of Emma's thoughts

Happy Mother's Day to all the wonderful Mum's out there, especially those who are battling serious illness. I hope that if you have a daughter, that you are as lucky as I am .........

Brenda xxxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hearing the 'R' word for the first time

At times during my treatment for Multiple Myeloma (cancer of the plasma cells in the bone marrow), I wondered if I would live to see my next birthday, never mind living to hear the 'R' word (Remission) but here I am on Friday 26 September 2014 celebrating seven years of remission.

It's a feeling of indescribable joy really to still be here and to be mostly fighting fit. 

I was reading through my 2007 journal last night and this is what was happening seven years ago:

Wednesday 26 September 2007
DAY WARD RESULTS 

A couple of weeks earlier I had a bone marrow biopsy (ouch) to see if my stem cell transplant had worked and to see if the myeloma was gone. I attended the haematology day ward in Tallagh hospital for results. This diary entry was written at the end of that day seven years ago.

I can't describe how in bits I was this morning. I was wide awake at 5.30am walking around the house, pacing up and down. Sleep didn't come to easily last night either. I got very emotional with the kids this morning - I know they didn't really understand why. I was uptight, nervous and it was very difficult to speak any words that made sense.

I had decided to go to the hospital by myself and I know my family members weren't that happy but that's the way I decided to do it today. If it was bad news I would have time to absorb it myself before I had to break the news to anyone else. People knew I was getting my results today so my phone was hopping with texts all morning with good wishes and offers of prayers.

I dropped the kids to school and delayed a bit chatting to people - all the time prolonging the journey to Tallaght Hospital.

When I got to the hospital I had to have my regular bloods done so I headed straight to phlebotomy. Then it was up to haematology. I had a fair idea that some of the nurses knew my results but they couldn't say anything. I had to hear whatever the news was from my consultant Dr Slaby.

In fairness they all knew how nervous I was and they got me into a side room to wait for Dr Slaby almost as soon as they saw me. He arrived and was a bit concerned about the cough I have. I was sitting beside him and I could see the computer screen. I was afraid to look at it as he pulled up my results. My left hand was shaking so much that I had to sit on it to stop it. I glanced at him and then glanced at the screen and lots of numbers and words blurred in front of me but then I thought I saw the words 'no myeloma present in the bone marrow sample'. I thought I was seeing things so I closed my eyes and then he said the words: "We've done it. The Myeloma is gone'. I punched the air with both fists. I wanted to scream the place down but I somehow composed myself. I don't know how or why.

I honestly didn't hear a word he said to me after that - something about maintenance treatment. Then he realised I wasn't hearing him and he said - that's for another day. He said he was concerned about my cough so he insisted I hang around for an Xray. I was bursting to get out of the office and he eventually said that's it and we shook hands.

I ran out into the day ward and ran straight into one of the nurses who had taken care of me and I said 'I'm in remission' and she said 'I know' with a huge smile on her face. She hugged me and realised how badly I was shaking from shock so she put me into a side office and told me to dial 9 for a line out and not to come out or attempt to leave the hospital until I was a bit more settled. She said well done and left with a huge smile on her face.

Pic of me taken in Autumn 2013 

I dialled 9 and called my hubby Bryan but there was no answer. Then I dialled my mother and just as she was about to talk to me I cut her off. I couldn't work my mobile as I was all fingers and thumbs. Bryan rang me back and it was one of the most emotional moments of my life and I could hardly get the words out. I'm in remission I said and started to cry - tears of happiness. He said 'you deserve champagne tonight so that's what we will do'. It was just a moment of amazement I will never forget.

I called other friends and then my work colleagues as I knew people were waiting and there was such joy and love coming at me down the phone lines from family, friends, colleagues. My phone went into overdrive.

I switched the phone off and just sat by myself for a while taking it all in. I did it. I was in remission. All the awfulness, all the suffering and trauma, all the worry - I had done it. I was in remission.

End of diary entry 

I remember leaving the room and meeting the other nurses - they were all thrilled as they had all been willing me to be well. I owe my life to this team of amazing men and women in the day ward in Tallaght. There was no way to ever repay them for giving me my life back but I am determined to try by staying well for as long as I possibly can.

There was such joy in the dayward but we all had to mindful of people around me who were not receiving good news on the day I got my life back. I went off for my Xray and skipped out the door of the hospital. I wanted to stop everyone I met and tell them that I had done it! I am in remission.

I remember heading home down the N7 singing along to the radio. My daughter Emma who was 9 at the time knew that I was getting results on that day. I remember her school bus pulling up and seeing her walking across the green outside our house so I ran over to her and we just stood in the middle of the green hugging after I had told her the news. She was so happy for me.

It was such an incredible moment. At the time I had no idea that my neighbour was watching - she knew I was getting results that day and she dropped in a card later that day telling me that she had stood at her window watching this beautiful moment between mother and daughter unfold before her eyes. She said it was impossible not to cry!

That was seven year's ago today and there have been so many more beautiful moments that have unfolded in my life and I so grateful for every one of them. 

We all take things in our lives for granted - time being one of them.

I've watched my daughter grow into the most wonderful 17 year old girl. 

I've watched my baby boy grow into a charming and witty 10 year old. 

I'm getting to grow older with my hubby of 19 years. 

Time is the thing I find myself most grateful for. It's wonderful. 

Here's to continuing to kick cancer's butt and to savouring time. 

Brenda 

xxx

The Sins of the Children by Emma Tobin

The mute, mothball shrieks of children dying under mother’s hands
And the fractal bursts of fractured light that hit
As the world tumbles over itself, leaving vague moments...
Like fingernails between the stones

While we, like disapproving books on dusty shelves
Clasp coffee cups against the precious beating of our hearts
Toss cynicism between one another, each drop of sweat a privilege
Each breath a human right

Stuffed straw mouths and shining hair
Religious freedom weighs more than dead children
Leaving corpses littered like cigarettes
Colours in a twisted dream of heaven

Matchstick ribs jutting, but we stood on the moon
How fragile have we made our one,
short and common life? How easily
our complacency is bought.

And in the dull light of big- mooned skies
Ragged lines of blood stutter down, rough
touches underneath a fluorescent fire. Severed
heads belching, toddlers left for flies.

In empty houses seashells wait for pudgy fingers
now bludgeoned shades of navy blue. And
our tots writhe on the warehouse floor, unable
to comprehend a world without Lego.

These shells will not creak in a gruff wind
Stretched lopsided over an imagined territory
An imagined safety, an imagined,
tender world.


Copyright: Emma Tobin (age 17)
September 2014

I have a dream .....

I had to share this - it's a piece from my 17 year old daughter Emma - it moved me so much. The full article will appear in a local magazine but you need to read this: 

"I worry because the world is broken, and no one is trying to fix it.

Is it a little much to say that I have a dream? I have a stupid, hopeless, idealistic dream that one day my children will live in a world where they will not be judged by their music taste, but by their awareness of the world around them. I have a dream that one day the human race will stop languishing in ignorance and realise that the first step in solving a problem is admitting that there is one. I have a dream that one day I will walk through the streets of my home town without fear, that my gender will not dictate my job prospects or my salary.

I have a dream that the colour of my hair will one day no longer decide whether you think it’s safe to let your children wave at me. I have a dream that one day we will read history books and realise that history is not simply a collection of boring facts, but a guide to the future.

I have a dream that one day we will read our charter of human rights and accept that the fact that children are starving in the world is not simply a means of making our children eat their carrots, but a crisis that we must take every step to solve. One day I hope that the child I see being wheeled around in supermarkets will be equally important and equally loved as every other child in the world." 


Ends

A guest post by Emma Tobin

This is a poem written by my daughter Emma. Emma is 15 and she is the most talented writer, as yet undiscovered but something tells me that 2013 is her year. This is a poem she wrote following our failed attempts at sending Chinese lanterns skywards on New Year's Eve 2012:

Words from Ashley Rice

I found this today on a bookmark. It is a piece written by Ashley Rice:

You are a lover of words.....one day you will write a book

People turn to you because you give voice to dreams, notice little things, and make otherwise impossible imaginings appear real.

You are a rare bird who thinks the world is beautiful enough to try to figure it out, who has the courage to dive into your wild mind and go swimming there.

You are someone who still believes in cloud watching, people watching, daydreaming, tomorrow, favourite colours, silver clouds, dandelions, and sorrow.

Be sacred. Be cool. Be wild. Go far.

Words do more than plant miracle seeds. With you writing them, they can change the world.

Ashley Rice