During a skype coversation, my mom clued in on the fact that I was under the weather, and she subsequently sent regular text messages to me asking about my recovery. "Are you better? Hope so, hope so! Mama Hens don't like it when the baby chicks are not on top of their game."
I was due to fly to the states on the 14th of December, and I still was not feeling that much better in the week leading up to that date. I was starting to get antsy. The last thing I wanted was to be in ill health during a long plane ride, or have my cold prevent me from having a good visit to the states for Christmas.
The Sunday before my departure, I suddenly felt a lot better, and ventured to the pub for the afternoon. We had a big fluffy snowfall, and I shared some pics with the family Whatsapp group. My mom responded positively, saying that she could imagine walking around the streets of my neighborhood enjoying the snow.
An old friend came up to the pub for a bit that afternoon, and we had a great time catching up on various things: his growing child, his domestic life, our length of time as Auslanders in Germany, and all in all we just enjoyed life for it was. We talked about our mothers and how they had to deal with us living far away (he is Australian), but even more importantly, we talked about how our lives were for the better despite the distance from loved ones. It was good day.
I felt better and better in the next few days as I finished my packing and wrapped up my work affairs before my coming holiday. I was looking forward to spending Christmas with my family and putting a rather lousy November behind me.
The following few weeks were just surreal.
As soon as I had finished unpacking and admired the Christmas tree and decorations in the house, my father expressed his concern about some behavioral changes he was noticing with my mother. I started noticing these almost immediately, and the next few days were a little unusual. My mom would show moments of clarity, then sort of do things that I considered to be rather strange.
Looking back, I was a little irritated at first, then felt more concern for both my parents, as the situation was not very pleasant. Clearly something was not quite right with mom, but what?
We managed to get a visit to the neurologist arranged, and my mother, father, sister, and I all went to the doctor's office together. I hadn't even been stateside for a week.
The doctor advised that the best course of action would be for mom to go into hospital for further tests. So, the following day, she was admitted, and within 24 hours, we had test results.
It was the Friday before Christmas, and I had arranged to meet Chris for a couple of beers and to watch a bit of the Arsenal match. No sooner had I taken a sip of beer, my sister phoned me with the news that we needed to urgently get to the hospital.
Brain tumor.
For the next few days, I felt like I had been kicked repeatedly in the gut. The world was crumbling around us, and we were all in complete shock.
Well, that Friday afternoon and evening we stayed at the hospital with Mom, waiting for the surgeon to come speak with us. He finally got to us around 9pm that night, and indicated that he wanted to do a biopsy on Sunday, Christmas Eve.
My father, sister, and I determined that we should proceed with the biopsy, and the doctor worked to make all the arrangements.
All things considered, the next day was kind of an OK day. My mom was pretty peaceful in the hospital (whereas the previous few days she had been belligerent), and a lot of friends and family came by to visit. Mom was able to chat with folks and we pretty much just hung out at the hospital.
Understandably, it was an emotional time. Baby chicks don't like it when Mama Hen is not well.
That Saturday night, after having spent the entire day at the hospital, we prepared to go home for a little rest; we would return on Sunday morning.
I hugged my mother goodbye, and she hugged me back. "You be a sweet girl," I said, making a similar statement that she always tends to say to me at the end of a conversation or a time together.
They did the biopsy Sunday morning, and by mid-afternoon mom was out of recovery and in ICU.
We went in to see her, but she never really responded to us. As discouraging as that was, we thought that perhaps it was simply the post-op process of coming out of the anesthesia that was keeping mom from responding. To keep up with our family tradition, we located a bible and the four of read the Christmas story together.
We went on home Sunday evening, knowing that we had some decisions to make in the next couple of days. No one was thinking much about Christmas, but back at home, Dad and I watched the evening service on the church website. None of us felt like we could emotionally attend the service personally.
In effort to have some semblance of Christmas Day, we visited Mom in the morning, then collected my Grandmother and brought her back home, where we had dinner and a bit of a gift exchange. My father put all of Mom's gift in her chair in the den, then took a photo of them. Later that afternoon, we returned to hospital to be with Mom, sharing some of the details of the day and showing her the pictures. Sadly, no noticeable response.
After speaking with the surgeon again on the 26th to discuss our options, we knew that the main priority was that Mom be comfortable. She was moved into hospice, and over the next days we gathered daily to greet friends and family as they came by to see us.
The support from family and friends was (and remains) incredible. The days were emotional, but as we all comforted each other, I kept thinking to myself how good it was that I was able to be there during a significant time of need with my family. I thought back to the conversation I had with Aussie Dave on that snowy Sunday afternoon, where we had talked about that exact thing.
This support came from all over. My sister's family and friends from Spain, my friends in Germany, and the friends and family from the community. I am so overwhelmed and grateful.
Mom passed away peacefully on the morning of the 31st.
My father, sister, and I went to the hospital to make the arrangements and have a last little moment with Mom.
We knew she was now in a better place, and this provided not only comfort, but relief.
That evening, my sister, brother-in-law, nephew, father and I all gathered at home and prepared a New Year's Eve meal. Sure, the evening was rather solemn, but I was glad to be with family.
I had spent most of the past week in a bit of a daze. Emotions were all over the place, and while I struggled to come to terms with everything, I again thought of the small positives. I was there during the time of need, and things went pretty quickly. Mom did not suffer.
From the first of the year, we worked on the arrangements for the memorial service. My aunts and uncles and most of the cousins arrived the following Friday night; the fellowship was comforting.
The first Saturday in January was a beautiful sunny day. We gathered at church for the service, and what a service it was. The music was perfect, the message was thoughtful and peaceful, and my father took a few minutes to speak. Listening to his words, I realized just how proud I am to be his son.
During that first week, I spent a lot of time with Dad just reminiscing, reflecting, and starting to heal.
Of course, my sister and her family were there also, but I was staying at my folk's house, so we had some one on one time. Dad and I talked often about how we would be going forward, missing Mom, but going forward because of Mom.
The week was comforting in that I could see my Dad was going to be able to cope in his sorrow. We were both sleeping a little better, mainly because our thoughts were turned more to celebration instead of the previous emotional weeks where we feeling lost, worried, and confused.
At one point, my father asked me, "Are you going to be OK when you get back home?"
I honestly did not have a concrete answer, but I felt like things would be OK. I prepared to return to Germany a couple of days after Mom's service, and as we shared a family hug before my departure, I spoke with my sister and father. "We will all be OK."
A lot of friends welcomed me back to Germany with wonderful support and thoughts. Again, I am so thankful for their friendship.
My first evening back in Germany, I was walking down my street and ran into an old neighbor. We greeted each other with the standard "Frohes Neues Jahr!"
He then asked me how my year was starting, and I had to explain the recent events. This led to a quite positive conversation, where he shared that one thing that he missed was that he never had a chance to get to know his father, who had died when he was very young.
I am fortunate to have been raised by parents whose love for me has never stopped. Over my 47 years, my relationship with them has only gotten stronger. Unlike my friend, I did have the chance to know my mother.
In February 2006, I moved away from the states to begin my life abroad. I made that move with the support and nurturing of my parents. As a way of expressing my thanks, I shared the below words with my mother, as a bit of a special belated Christmas message. During Christmas of 2016, I shared the words with her again, as I wanted to remind her how much she means to me.
Are you my
mother...? Yes, you are!
Funny, it
took me 35 years before I could express my appreciation for mothers,
particularly my mother. Even more funny
was that I needed to see my sister become a mother before I better understood
the whole bit of being a mother in the first place.
Now, it’s
not as if I never appreciated my mother until I turned 35 – in my own Bryan way
I’ve appreciated my mother always. Like
any other child, I took things for granted, but at the same time, despite
actions that might have indicated otherwise, I was paying attention.
Furthermore,
watching my sister become a mother wasn’t the sole catalyst for why, in 2006 I
finally feel the ability to express.
That said, seeing a sister mother a child certainly helps to put things
in perspective.
I made a
new friend towards the end of 2005, and as she and I were getting to know one
another, we played a game of 20 questions.
In one question, she actually asked about my father and his influence on
me, but she preferaced it with the statement, “You only seem to talk about your
mother.”
I think it
was about that time that I realized how much my mother means to me. Not to say my father doesn’t mean loads to
me, but this is a story about my mom.
Right after
that game of 20 questions, I spent a few weeks in Spain, and as I watched my
sister interact with my nephew, I kept noticing, “Wow, Mom did that with
me.” Over the rest of my trip, I
reflected about that in relation to my life thus far.
Though I
have a strong memory, I won’t try to document my first memory of my
mother. Sure, I have to mention a
certain event at Lake Superior, simply because it has such significance in
life’s rich pageant. In all honesty, I
was having a little lie down under the water.
Only my mother was having a moment of, “Holy shit, my child is about to
drown!” It wasn’t until years later that
I actually was able to imagine what was going through my mother’s head during
those frantic moments…
I had a job
at Radio Shack right out of college, and a workmate put it best. “Mom approval rating very high!” he would say
when describing how she had had he foresight to prepare his favorite meal or
something at home. I’ve used that phrase
countless times since…my mother always has a way of thinking about me when I
least expect it.
Another
friend of mine, during a conversation we were having, mentioned rather casually
that my mother’s face always lit up when I was around. It was a flattering observation, one I
haven’t ever really noticed. Of course,
I’m a bit naïve at the best of times, but this friend noticed this regularly
each time she was around our family.
I’ve often
thought about my friend’s observation.
It makes perfect sense that my mom appreciate me, but I guess I always
thought she was quietly proud to see me being me. After all, she’s repeatedly said, “You can do
it! Why?
Because you’re Bryan Barlow.”
Rule number
1 on being yourself came straight from my mother. Again, I just assumed she had a front row
seat in seeing Bryan be Bryan, so it never occurred to me to express my
gratitude.
One of the
biggest differences between my sister and me is that my sister talks a
lot. Me, not so much, as I’m a bit more
reserved. Though I’ve had my moments of
gabbiness, I consider myself one who always listens first, then speaks.
Considering
those two attributes – confidence and listening skills, hands down they have
helped me advance my career, and they’re relatively simple things. For much of my life, I assumed that everyone
else’s mother told their kid about this, too.
In my experience, though, it seems to me that people lack confidence and
tend to listen less than they should.
Are these people just choosing to ignore this important influence?
More
recently, I began thinking that perhaps other mothers just didn’t encourage
their children, or perhaps never even taught them the importance of confidence
and listening.
Why
not? Didn’t these mothers love their
children like my mother loves me?
I’ll touch
on that correlation a bit later, but the specific point of a loved child merits
discussion. I had a colleague, who
matter-of-factly pointed out that he could tell whether a child had been loved
or not. Children who are loved by the
parents develop into thoughtful, consenting adults, clearly demonstrating
traits from a previous generation.
I paid
particular attention to my co-worker’s comment because he said it about
me. Maybe I’d subconsciously shown those
attributes, but I hadn’t yet linked them directly to my mother. For a period of my life, I couldn’t
comprehend why people just didn’t seem to listen. (note – I’ll talk about confidence a bit
later)
Listening. A valuable attribute. As I’ve already said, being a good listener
has helped advance my career; I’ve grown from the experience. Though I’m fortunate to have a strong memory,
it’s the mere fact that I was listening in the first place that I find so
important.
I listened
when I was taught right from wrong. I
listened when my mother said, “You’re Bryan Barlow.” True, my mother has a tendency of offering
reminders; part of this is motherhood,
part is my mother. Sure, it was
sometimes tedious to be reminded, but later, it was nice to realize how nice
those reminders really were. My mother
hasn’t ever stopped thinking about me.
My mother has always said, “A mother likes to look after her baby
chicks, even after they have grown up.”
This has
left several sheepish memories with me – it’s firmly imbedded in my brain to
NEVER try on a bathing suit sans underwear…
On the more
serious front, my mom always seems to notice if I seem tired, or sad, or
afraid, or happy, or psyched up…
It’s like
listening, only without words. It’s
actually observation – a mother’s way of watching to see that her child is
always OK. Pretty cool, as far as I’m concerned.
Confidence. In fairness, I learned this on three fronts:
my mother, my father, and myself. I’ll
leave Dad and Bryan for another discussion.
My mother
isn’t what I would describe as overly confident, but certainly she has
confidence. What I’ve noticed is that
one can be confident through others; sometimes it’s easier to encourage others
than it is to encourage yourself.
Ironic, though, that by simply encouraging others one motivates the
self.
My mother
has always gently encouraged, sometimes with a bit of sternness, but only a
little. I’m fortunate that she “gently
encouraged” me to play piano. as I would not be alive today without it.
Encouraging
me to follow my heart is also from my mother.
I live my life with my heart on my sleeve, and as a result, am a bit
more sensitive. I endure a lot of angst,
but only because I was encouraged to express myself. While this makes for a challenging life, it
makes for an exceptionally rewarding one, too.
Believing
in myself is something that I credit myself with, but I wouldn’t be able to do
that without a lifetime of encouragement from my mother. “Be proud of who you are. You can do it because you are you.”
Hardly a
day passes without me pausing to think, “my mother helped me get here.”
Because I’m
who I am, I think I actually “discovered” myself a bit earlier than my
contemporaries. While I struggled as an
adolescent to find out what I was all about, I found that everyone else seemed
to be trying hard to be what others wanted them to be. Short term, that made for some rough years I
lived through, but long term, I couldn’t be more content. Sure, I’m still finding out about myself, and
I’ll always be growing, but because I’ve had the encouragement from my mother
in the first place. Talk about one of
the best gifts ever…
It’s funny
to watch my sister practice this same process with my nephew. I have only vague memories of being three,
personally, but I do see how a mother’s love influences a child. I can truly see what it will be like for my
nephew in 5 , 10, 15, 30 years… Amazing.
It’s not
necessarily big things, either. It’s
little things like: “doing a motorboat” in the swimming pool, or playing “I
Spy” at lunch, or going to the library, or being woken up at 6am to practice
piano, or learning how to wash clothes at age 10, or just singing to sing, or
getting newspaper clippings about the hazards of smoking, or finding a little
pack of Kleenex in your stocking at Christmas, or always receiving a smiley
face on a post-it.
As an adult,
I get to observe my mother being a daughter, a daughter of an aging parent, and
have learned several lessons from that.
I’m still too young to completely understand, but I’m watching. After all, I had a pretty good teacher.
As an
adult, I’m able to be a friend to my mother, albeit it’s a slightly unusual
friendship. I’d no sooner call my mother
to ask her to drive me home safely from a bar after I’ve had too much to drink
than I would call a soccer mate to have them take me to the hospital because I
had strep throat. But, it’s still really
cool. Being able to express myself to my
mother will always be special. We can
share with one another as adults, and can express our viewpoints even when we
might not see eye to eye. My mom can see
the real me, which is a partial result of the real her.
I’m not a
parent, and may never become one. That
decision is my own, but again will come from the influence of my mother: be yourself.
Should I ever decide to become a father, I’ll look forward to my mother
grandmothering my child. Until then, I’m
forever grateful, appreciative, and simply her loving son.
keep the
faith
bryan
Spring 2006
– How fortunate I was to receive a visit from my mother two months after I
changed my life. We got to celebrate my
birthday as a family, and whether its for 6 or 36, it’s still comforting.
Over the past 12 years that I have been abroad, I continue to celebrate my mother and father. These past 2 weeks that I have been at home in Germany, I have constantly reflected on how my life has changed. Many of my friends here knew my mother, and their words have been so kind and complimentary. They share my sorrow, but also join me in celebrating her.
She was and remains just a wonderful woman, mother and friend.
Thanks Mom. I love you.
