Missing Mother
A redheaded African songbird was singing while my mother’s coffin sank into the grave. Very fitting, because my mother herself was a redhead and a singer, who until her death led the singing for the morning worship in the old-age home where she lived.
On July 5, 2021, at about half past five in the morning (my time), I heard that bird on a TV screen in my living room in America. And I saw the coffin sink into the South African earth thanks to the work of a videographer. I was not at my mother’s funeral. My only sister, who lives in Australia, was not there either. Yet I have in my mind total peace even though none of my widowed mother’s children could attend her funeral in person.
When our family moved to America seven years ago, I soon realized that I would have to take very good care of my mental health. When you emigrate, you easily become detached from your roots, a floating alien who no longer fits in anywhere. For better mental health, I realized this soon enough, two things are needed. Focus your mind on the right things. Manage your emotions well. Eventually, I qualified as a life coach, one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life. With my mother’s passing away, I needed my life coaching skills more than ever.
Her last day was the worst. She had been in hospital for a week then. And yes, it was COVID-19. Her doctor desperately wanted her admitted to a high care ward, but there was no room. At that point South Africa and especially the province where she lived was battling a new wave of coronavirus cases. When I got up in America that last morning, there was a message from my sister from Australia.
“Call me as soon as you wake up.”
The kind of message that instantly freezes one’s blood. If it was very bad news, so I comforted myself, my sister would have called me already. She knew that since my mother was admitted to hospital, I no longer put my phone on airplane mode during the night. My sister’s news was that the hospital where my mother was in had converted an ordinary ward into a high care ward to deal with the higher patient load and moved her there. The nurse in the high care ward called one of our family members about every half hour that last day. Never with good news. My mother’s oxygen levels kept falling. She went into a coma. Half past eleven in the morning (my time) three minutes after her death, my sister called me.
“God took her home,” she whispered brokenly. Over all those thousands of miles, we cried together over the phone. By that time, my sister and I had asked each other several times if we should go back to South Africa to assist my mother. The implications for my sister were worse than for me. She would have to get special permission to leave Australia and if she left the country, she would not be able to return for three months. For twelve weeks she would be without an income, far from her husband and her children and grandchildren. And always with the danger that she might get COVID-19 in South Africa. For me, the problem was also that I would get COVID-19, and then not be allowed to fly back to my husband and my children and have to rely on family in South Africa for accommodation and nursing. Besides, I had been in South Africa a few weeks before for my mother in-law’s funeral. Her unexpected death had nothing to do with COVID-19. But during that three-week visit, I was able to spend a lot of time with my own mother. Even Mother’s Day. I was able to clean and organize her room for her, take her to restaurants several times, tell her again and again how much I loved her and talk to her for hours and hours. It was a sweet, sweet time of grace God granted me.
The hospital’s policy of no visitors convinced me and my sister that it was not worth it to fly to South Africa in a hurry. We would not even be able to see our mother. After her death we had to decide again: are we going to South Africa for the funeral? A South African friend who currently lives in the Netherlands warned me that I would struggle to get closure if I didn’t go. She had friends who did not attend a family member’s cremation and memorial service last year. The arrangements were a big mess, and they still blame themselves for it. When I heard this, I decided to use every bit of life coaching training to purposefully build a better relationship with myself, my sister and my family in South Africa during this time. I would keep reminding myself how strong my bond with my mother was, even though I had lived so far away from her. I reminded myself of three things in particular.
For almost seven years, I called my mom every Saturday morning. Those chats meant a lot to her. One time her cell phone wouldn’t work. With a bad back and all, she walked almost a mile to buy a new one just to talk to me. I also handled my mother’s money for her online, made payments if necessary, and put data on her cell phone for her. It was a small and easy way to serve her that made her felt loved and protected. My mother was dependent on rental income to help pay for her stay at the old-age home. She constantly had to have things fixed at the rental apartment and was permanently worried that tenants would ruin the apartment or default on the payment. Or that the levies would just go up and up. But she was afraid to put her rental apartment on the market. What if it doesn’t sell immediately? Where would she find the money to pay for the old-age home? Only after I assured her that my husband and I would pay for the deficit, did she have the courage to put it on the market. Within a month it sold. She was able to invest the money and live off the interest. I’m grateful for the peace of mind I was able to give her.
With this positive mindset my sister and I set out to arrange the most beautiful funeral for my mother. My sister had the lion’s share in it. Fantastic family members in South Africa helped us all the way. The red-headed songbird? Another unexpected gift from the Lord. Of course, I still feel miserable about my mother. A sharp pain of loss and longing still makes me cry and mourn. But my time of mourning is not clouded with guilt and regret. I loved my mother unconditionally and I could tell and show it to her. Three weeks before her death, she sent me this text message:
“My dearest daughter, I just want to say thank you again for EVERYTHING you did for me. My room made so nice, clothes bought. When I open the closet, I see love. The love of Risa. You put in so much effort. I can only say thank you. You are a precious child. You’re worth gold. May the LORD Jesus bless you. THANK YOU. Be blessed. Love you. I love you so MUCH, my child. May you have everything that is beautiful in your life.”
Probably the most precious goodbye any daughter could get.
Risa Haasbroek is a life coach. Follow her on Instagram at @risa4c
