"Come and sit with me, Mum. Over here." I point at the leather sofa facing the TV. She nods silently and we sit holding hands for a few minutes before, restless again, she slips her body forward to stand.
"Where are you going, Mum?" I ask. She doesn't turn her head but her eyes try to find me as she says, "I'm just going to find that girl." She mumbles something else as if to herself. I miss the content completely. Again she shuffles to the stair and holding the hand rail descends determinedly but stiffly.
'Creeeak! Creeeak!' I hear in my head. The sicker sense of my humour rears itself, and I 'shush' myself internally.
She's a bit like a ghost, wandering around seemingly not taking anything in. No sign of emotion on her face. Eyes looking inward more than noticing out.
As if she's left the building without turning out the lights.
The catch is thats not always quite whats going on in that grey haired head of hers.
My brother gave me a hint.
She knows we are all here for her. Or some part of her at least. Thats why she's so restless. Someone to see? Someone here? Someone?
Its Christmas 2007.
Her last? Her last where she still has a vague memory of who we are? Who knows. We're here just in case. Hello.....goodbye?
We're all here. My sister Rhonda and my two brothers Tom and Peter. Their father, her first husband. Me. My sister's son Jamal. My brother Tom's three girls Jody, Jemma, Trudy and his wife Karen. My brother Peter's three girls Helinor, Tarah-Leigh and Eloise. It's never ever happened before, every one of the family in one place together. For Mum. Just in case.
Currently she's sitting at the dining table eating her lunch. Merv, her first husband and the father of my sister and my two brothers is looking at her as she eats. She looks at him as if she hasn't noticed him until now. Her dismissive look says 'what the hell are you looking at?'Merv smiles, "It's me Mary, Bumstead."
She called Merv 'Bumstead' after the divorce. I was always told to call him 'Uncle Merv' but she kept 'Bumstead' for herself, calling him that over the years with a consistently gleeful expression on her face every time.
Now she looks at him as if he's some alien freshly deposited in front of her. She looks cluelessly at him as she says, "What?" Her mouth still has food in one cheek.
"It's me Mary, Bumstead."
Sudden clarity. Clarity, so sudden we miss it.
"I know who you are, you Arsehole."
She chuckles devilishly as everyone within earshot bursts out laughing. She smiles as she mutters to herself something about 'not that bloody dumb'. Her smile is infectious. We are all smiling now. "I'm still here."
"Mum, what did you say? Well I never?" Someone's saying with a mock 'tut tut tut' tone. "Thats not the way our mother brought us up. You would have washed our mouths out with soap..." Its my sister with a smile in her tone.
Merv laughing is saying, "Ah thats the 'teine Samoa' I remember."
'Teine Samoa' means 'Samoan girl'.
"I remember seeing this girl on the tram to Ponsonby and I thought to myself, 'Manaia le teine, Samoa."
Merv was a merchant seaman who sailed all around the Pacific, so he had learnt Samoan on his travels. 'Manaia le teine, Samoa' means 'beautiful Samoan girl'.
Mum just looks at him again and laughs as she says again, "Yeah I know who you are, you Arsehole."
She's smiling still and giggling to herself.
Today is Christmas Day and we've opened the presents and we've eaten a gorgeous feast of prawns, ham, turkey, Chop suey, roast potatoes, roast beef and vegetables. Now its time for photos.
One of the girls sets up chairs in front of the palm trees in the back yard. Assorted neices and nephew get their digital cameras, camcorders, phones ready to take photos automatically.
"Come sit here, Nan." says one.
"Nanny, do you want your photo taken," asks another.
"Come on Mum, we're going to take a photo," says my brother guiding her to the center chair.
Her face is like a granite. Unwielding. Plain. Not interested. Not there.
As my neices and nephew take their places around her. She's staring into the distance.
Nothing.
"Smile Nan," one of the nieces suggests.
"Smile Nanny," another one offers, "look at the camera Nanny."
"Smile Mum," my brother implores her.
Nothing.
She sits like a stone statue. There but not there.
A few photos later with smiles all around her vacant gaze. Duds.
She looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights stuck between bizarrely grinning strangers.
Everyone is trying desperately to get her to smile.
"Ok all the children sitting with their Mother," someone's directing.
We sit two either side of Mum. Her rabbit-in-the-headlights look seemingly stuck by a change in the wind.
"Come on Nan, smile." Jody is almost pleading. Nothing.
"Come on Mum, give us a smile." Nothing.
"Come on Mary, smile for the camera." Mum looks at Merv as if she's trying to work out who he is again.
"Its me Mary, Bumstead."
"I know who you are you Arsehole."
She laughs. We all laugh.
"Oh so its me the Arsehole, is it Mary?" Merv says laughing.
She laughs at him and then chuckles to herself. Smiling.
Smiling.
She laughs and smiles every time. Every time we say 'Arsehole'.
"ARSEHOLE!" The whole family cries in unison.
Mum in the center smiles and chuckles some more.
Again and again, "Arsehole!" works every time.
We get some wonderful shots of Mum smiling surrounded by her whole family.
"ARSEHOLE!"
God knows what the next door neighbours think.
"ARSEHOLE!"
Oh well, who cares what the neighbours think.
"ARSEHOLE!"
and a Merry Bloody Christmas to you all, ya buggers!
