Purple.

My Mum is in her late eighties, a retired intensive care nurse and she had dementia. Her best friend in the world was her sister, my Auntie. My Auntie, had breast cancer, and I was in the room when she was on the phone to someone abroad, and the person who knew them both, must have asked how they both were. I will never forget my Auntie’s reply, speaking of my Mum who was sitting there in the room with us, she said, “She’s OK.” There, in that small sentence I thought is a big difference to dying of breast cancer verses dementia! The two really can’t be compared, for with the cancer one dies quick, and with the other the person dies very slowly, so slowly that they don’t even know they are dying, but it is the loved ones who look after them who see it and grieve. About three weeks after this conversation, that my Auntie had, to someone abroad, she was dead! But to look at her there sitting opposite me on the other sofa, looking healthy and well, I wouldn’t have guessed it, for I didn’t dress her wounds on her breast the cancer nurses did and so did her daughters, who are also nurses. It was they who saw the rawness of the cancer up close. In their way, they grieved well before she passed.

So here we are, sixteen months after her death. Mum is still with us in very good health for her age. She is only on two high blood pressure tablets each morning. After Auntie’s death, Mum would say, “I haven’t heard from my sister lately,” We would then have to tell Mum, “She died in May.” The shock on Mum’s face, hearing those words for the very first time! She would say, “Does her children know?” We would tell her, “Yes they all know.” I would add, “You were there, when she was dead on the bed, and you went to her funeral.” One of my cousins look after Mum each week, and Mum would ask her the same question, “I haven’t heard from my sister recently.” My poor grieving cousin, as hurting as she was had to tell my Mum, “Auntie, she died.”

Mum does not mention her sister anymore, she does not remember her, her best friend in the world. We her kids still talk of Auntie to Mum. Mum does not say anything. We went to her graveside on the first anniversary of her death, just a few of us, different people went at different times of the day, but when I was with Mum, there was about six of us, standing there. Mum was OK, she knew why she was there.

For me, the only way I can describe what I think Mum might be feeling, is that the tears and sadness is stuck inside her, and she doesn’t know how to deal with it.

Mum has a lovely flat. She moved in this year, she has help seven days a week, with paid carers, my cousin, and us her four living kids. From Thursday evening when it is my turn, I am with my Mum at her flat, until Monday night, when I put her to bed. Then she is afraid. Mum, I have figured out, does not see the flat as her home. The other people who live there about sixty of them, it has red cords for the Residents to pull for an assistant to talk to straight away, and on the intercom the Manger speaks to them each morning via an intercom loudspeaker, asking each Resident, “Are you OK?” If the Manager does not get a reply, then she will come into the flat.

We are with Mum on a rota basis, my other brother when it is his turn, on the Thursday night, he is with Mum until Monday night but as he lives ten minutes away, he arrives in the mornings at 9am and leaves at 9pm he does not do any personal care he is a Nurse, so the paid Carers, come in and shower Mum in the mornings. When it is my other brothers turn, he stays at Mum’s flat from Thursday night until Sunday night, he too is a Nurse, he does do personal care, he showers Mum, Mum is OK with this, so there are no Carers for those days. When it is my third brothers turn, he takes Mum to his home, and Mum stays there until Sunday night, Mum has no personal care, just teeth brushed and face washed, and clothes changed. He brings Mum back Sunday night. The paid Carer will give Mum a shower Monday morning. Our cousin works with Mum, we pay her too, well Mum does, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday four hours each day. In the evenings of Monday to Wednesday 6pm until 9pm we decide between us kids, who will be with Mum, the paid Carer comes and put her to bed, then we leave.

When I am with Mum on the Monday night, I have been with Mum since Thursday evening, I now know what to expect, I know what is coming, as soon as I say to Mum, “I’m going home tonight,” Mum becomes afraid, it is not nice to see Mum like this, the Mum I know to be a strong, quiet, hardworking woman, now afraid. No amount of reasoning will reassure her. This is not my Mummy. I love her deeply, I can’t stay there forever, I have a home, husband and kids, a job and pets.

When Mum emigrated abroad with her beloved sister and her brother-in-law. Before they retired, they had a house build especially for the three of them, Mum had her section and my Auntie and her husband had their section, it was one house in equal proportions. When he died, my Mum and Auntie then slept in the one double bed, for many years until they came back to England. Two months after they came back home, Auntie died.                                 

Last year in the Tkmaxx sale I saw a beautiful leather messenger bag. It was black it was of a very soft quite thin leather, that was for work. I don’t go on holidays, instead I book off the last two weeks in January so that I can go to the TKMaxx sales! I go to five of them, three that are nearer my home I go to twice but the two that are far away I visit once.

I was looking for a bag like my work bag, for my Bible only, and in the one that was far away, I saw it! It was stunning, the same make but hand made with a different type of leather, this leather was stiff and thick. It was perfect and when I put my Bible in it, it was like it was made to order. I was chuffed to bits.

On two occasions at Church my Pastor said when she saw my bag, “That is a beautiful colour bag.”

This year when I went to the TKMaxx sales, I saw a beautiful, very beautiful larger leather bag. It was a zip topped bag with the softest of handles, it was divine to hold and behold. It was perfect for my Bible and other things, I loved it. Now I didn’t need the other bag, so I decided to do something I had never done in my life.

I decided to give the lovely purple bag to my Pastor. It was in perfect condition. It was only used on Sunday mornings for an hour, and it was always kept on the top shelf inside my wardrobe.

In the past, I have put things away safe, over the years and I have NEVER found them again!

I remember putting the precious leather bag into a bag and then into another bag and saying to myself, the bag is in THIS bag, do not throw it away. I felt as I was doing it, like a was in slow motion, for I wanted to make sure I did not lose it, forever like the others. It was important that I remembered. I was alone in the bedroom at the time, or I would have asked someone to watch me.

My plan was to buy beautiful tissue papers and either then wrap it up and put in in a beautiful gift box or a gift bag.

To my horror I then lost the bag, in fact I could not remember which bag I had put it in! I looked everywhere for it; I was gutted. What I had feared had happened. A month later it was the Pastor’s birthday, it would have been perfect to have given her that bag, but it was missing, gone forever, with the other gone forever lost things. I was sad.

About ten days ago, I went into my son’s bedroom and decided to wash some of his clothes, his clothes were in a pile on the floor and when I picked up some of his clothes there was the bag, it wasn’t even in a bag, it was just there, but not in plain sight. I just said, “Thank you Jesus.” Some things to me are just mysteries, and we will never know the answers.

On Saturday I looked in my post and package bags and saw that I had beautiful coloured floral blue tissues, I went to Tesco with the bag and bought a lovely gift bag for it.

Back home I excitedly, wrapped it up with love and care and on the tag I wrote. “Twice you mentioned the colour, that you liked it, you are Blessed indeed. Love from MJG.”

After Church, I gave her the beautiful gift bag and said, “This is for you.” She had got such a beautiful smile and said, “What is it? Can I open it?” I replied, “Yes.” I was SO excited. She opened the bag and the joy on her face! She hugged me and said, “You bought me this?” I replied, “No this is my bag that I love very much, I have never given a bag that I love to anyone, but I have bought another bag, so I have given this to you to enjoy.” There were lots more hugs from my Pastor.

She was happy and I was happy, it was a happy ending.