Thanks Mum

My mother died 18 years ago, on 18 May 2006.

She had sparkling eyes and played Claire de Lune pretty well, despite losing one and a half fingers to a washing machine when she was a young mum with eight kids to look after.

Her name was Doreen Eleanor O’Grady née Doherty. She married my father William (known as Kel) when she was just shy of her 21st, had five kids in the next five years, then another three after that.

The trick is never to let down your guard, Maggie O’Farell wrote in Hamnet. “Never think you are safe. Never take for granted that your children’s hearts beat, that they sup milk, that they draw breath, that they walk and speak and smile and argue and play. Never for a moment forget they may be gone, snatched from you, in the blink of an eye, borne away from you like thistledown.”

In the early ‘70s, after nearly two decades of never letting down her guard, Doreen and Kel travelled to China with the Australian Farmers Federation. The adventure took place a year or so after Gough Whitlam’s historic visit to Beijing (Gough was the first Australian PM to do so).

Later, Doreen and Kel went to Nigeria with our parish priest, who had missionary connections there. I think that was part of an epic 12-week trip to Africa, Europe and the UK. They were in Paris in May 1974 and during this trip they met and became friends with a couple of retired Swiss diplomats, Ed and Andrea Steiner.

In April 1976, mum and dad went back to Europe with their four youngest kids. They hired a campervan and a tent and took us to see Bavarian castles and medieval towns and eat food a world away from corned beef on week nights, fish & chips on fridays.

After a few nights outdoors, though, mum got jack of the camping thing and we slept thereafter in hotels, all of which was a big deal for my 16-year-old self. I wanted to travel again as soon as I could.

They travelled often, for the rest of their lives. Visited the Steiners in Zurich, cruised the Mediterranean, made a pilgrimage to Ireland to commune with ancestors and meet the living relatives.

Was it weird to clap when we buried Doreen’s body, after the rites and rituals?

I don’t think so. She was a wonderful human being, perfectly imperfect. The energy my mother devoted to raising eight kids, the unconditional love she gave to us and to her grandkids and great-grandkids was a force for good.

I inherited many things from Doreen (we all did), including her enthusiasm and her sense of adventure.

She encouraged me to believe I could do the things I wanted to do, or dreamt of doing, provided I did the work, and she helped whenever she could.

She and Kel matched me, dollar for dollar when I was saving for my first trip overseas, the year after I finished school.

There’s a direct link, of course, between that history and the fact that my 62-year-old self is able this morning to walk to French Bastards on Rue St Denis in Paris to buy a coffee and croissant. If I’m lucky, I might even hear someone practising Claire de Lune.

Thanks Mum xx