There are various events that happen in a lifetime that bring family together. A marriage, a birth, graduations, retirements and of course—deaths.
As I write this editorial, I’m planning a memorial service for my mother—July 29th here in Kindersley. My mother passed away in her 90th year of life. A good long stretch of days, saying nothing of the ups and downs of those days.
I suppose as a young person we see our parents as pretty black and white. They direct our days; they feed our stomachs and they command our respect. A black and white world.
Until we hit our teens (or perhaps earlier). At that point we begin to draw outside the lines and we use the full palette of colours. Our parents see the screaming red and the introspective blues. They experience the splashes of pastels on days of relative calm and then the explosions of neon on days of extreme passion.
In the ensuing years most of us get away from the parents. Fathers have tended to have an influence in our lives. Meanwhile, our mothers have been more of a presence – one that we couldn’t shake. Some of us never felt the need to shake very hard while others of the siblings have vigorously sought to dislodge our mother’s effect.
As we as siblings and family members have reminisced over my mother’s life, a much nuanced and colourful portrait of my mother has emerged.
Were I to write a history of my mother it would include an abusive childhood in all ways, a rescue by siblings, a teen marriage to an older understanding and faithful husband, childbirth to six children in the space of seven years along with the adoption of another child later on, midlife with no children around and the early onset of dementia with a final placement in a care home.
That’s what we see from documented or verified sources. Broad brush strokes.
How we paint between the broad brush strokes never ceases to amaze me.
As we siblings and close relatives have chatted we have reminded each other of events. Each event has our own special twist – none of us paint the same picture. What one saw as helpful advice from mom another saw as extreme restriction. Rest periods saved one child’s sanity while totally frustrating another.
The fine brush strokes from each individual fills in the colour of the portrait. One sibling may contribute dark hues while another brings along joyous swatches of light. A soft and generous spirit emerges on the canvas, and then a brush stroke appears that dispels that quality. Painted by one person with just one stroke. Meanwhile a stained section is restored to beauty by the contribution of many brush strokes.
I’ve done enough funerals to know that the true portrait of a person is somewhere between dark and light. When you look into the face of your family, what do you see? What should you see? What could you see?
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