My Mother

This is my mother, the woman who all her life tried to make everyone happy. And I mean everyone.

She never seemed to have acquired the ability to prioritise until very late in life.

From childhood my best memories of her are her magnificent artistic abilities: she was an extraordinary piano player, and began studying music at the Music Conservatory. Similarly, she was an exceptionally gifted fine artist. When I was a child she used to make extra money by drawing ads for local businesses which were shown at the local cinema before the film started.

She was always conscientious and sincere, and despite having a wicked sense of humour she seemed almost naïvly earnest. I inherited that quality from her. Her concern for everyone's happiness and wellbeing, brought her to collaps from exhaustion when I was 12 1/2. I remember that summer very well. It was a difficult one for us all.

Twice she got cancer. The first time was in 1970, the second in 1974. She was seriously ill on both occasions, and underwent very major surgery on both occasions. Only a few months after her second bout of cancer, however, she faced may be the deepest trauma of her life, by far surpassing her cancer: the loss of her youngest son in a traffic accident.

My mother's life was not an easy one. Because she was always concerned with other people's well-being, there was little room and few ears for her to share her story, her pain, her despair.

I wish I'd understood her as well when I was young as I do now as a mature adult.