'Hows she doing?' people ask, empathetic. People are tender with those who suffer losses, because it's common to us all. Kindness comes in bunches of flowers, in phonecalls, in 'just thought I'd drop in' visits.
My Mum is doing remarkably well.
She's spent at least three thousand dollars on power tools.
Of course she's sad. Of course she cries. Of course she constantly thinks: 'oh, Hans'd love this story', and then remembers she can't tell him.
But, power tools are a good distraction, when she's had enough of sadness.
Today we visited to move a girt pile of mulch that's been sitting there for months - since Before He Died. We'd made a little dent on it a few weeks back but it's a big job. When we arrive Mum was mowing the lawn with her new toy - an electric lawnmower.
It does Make me laugh. When other widows might be popping down to the shops for some self care - you know, a mani-pedi, a massage, some retail therapy - Mum's buying power tools. Dad was over it in the last few years, understandably - he was ill, and it was frustrating for him, not being able to do the garden. He'd talk Mum out of new tools because he'd lost interest. Now he's gone, she doesn't have a 'no' - hence the new reciprocating saw which she gleefully brandished to prune the fruit trees and the olives. She's unstoppable. She even has an electric whippersnipper, which she demonstrates happily.
Seventy five years old, my Mum. I wish I was half as fit.
Jamie got to work cutting the edge of the garden and finishing moving the mulch pile. You can see the newly fenced vegetable garden in the below photo too - my brother in law and nephews added compost and straw to it last week. It really has been a team effort.
To be honest, I was mainly supervising - my hips wouldn't let me help. I did pop down and grab some sushi for us for lunch though, and some ginger beer, which is always good when you've been working in the garden on a hot day. When I got back Jamie had screwed Dad's metal kookaburra to a post - we had to move it when he build the vegetable patch.
And just like that, the mulch has disappeared. The grass will eventually grow back.
Dad is still there, of course. His green shovel. His straw Bunnings hat that I wear as I supervise. The remembered sense of enthusiasm. The lizard climbing up a post reminds me of him. There's shadows of him everywhere.
And of course the house he built. Mum was at the dentist yesterday and they asked her if she'd move to the retirement village down the road. 'I couldn't think of anything worse' she laughed.
This is her home. The garden keeps her fit, gives her a project, something to focus on. It brings us together in sporadic working bees. We'll drink cuppas here, swim in the pool. Remember Dad, of course.
So long as she can keep brandishing power tools, she'll be fine.
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