Mum's 90th (Kerry)

A story based on the most outstanding event that has touched your life over the last month.

Mum was sitting happily in her wheelchair in the sunlit lounge-room of the nursing home surrounded by well-wishers. My sister, Rosey, had remembered to bring the special brooch in the shape of a tiny vase of flowers, which Mum had been given as a 21st birthday present. It was pinned proudly on the lapel of Mum’s new jacaranda-blue woollen vest.

It had only been a couple of hours earlier that the three sisters had finally succumbed to the pressure and agreed that it would be appropriate for us to define a focus for the afternoon tea celebrations, with a speech. Actually to be honest, my youngest sister, Hilary, had acquiesced when the boys made the first request. Rosey and I were holding out but Hil said, “Let’s say I’ll do it.” Her generosity could have let us off the hook but, despite our misgivings, there was something incomplete about only one of the girls speaking. With a little more cajoling and coercion, Rosey and I bowed graciously to popular demand. Besides only three of the four brothers were able to be at the party, so to use the complete set of three sisters obeyed some sort of strange family logic.

Apart from the speech, the day had been planned well in advance. The grocery shopping for the party had been completed the day before. The champagne was chilling in the freezer. Three sumptuous cakes had been collected from the bakery. Someone had remembered to pick up the hired crockery and glasses. Three loaves of sandwiches had been prepared, although not without some controversy. There were discussions about only having white bread, about the efficacy of cutting the crusts off the bread, about using curried egg or watercress with the egg, about mustard or not with the ham. In all, we expended six man hours making sandwiches. It was suggested that Someone could have ordered and picked up sandwiches for the occasion in a fraction of the time.

As had been arranged, Graham, the eldest brother, tinkled a teaspoon against a champagne glass. Hilary, Rosey and I scurried for our handbags, rummaging for scraps of paper with hastily written notes and, more importantly, for our reading glasses. The crowd hushed.

“Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for coming this afternoon to celebrate Mum’s 90th birthday.” I began, being the eldest.

I spoke about what a beautiful woman Mum is and that she is as beautiful now as she was as a young woman. There were loud murmurs of agreement. I talked about her intelligence, about how we always knew if we asked Mum a question we’d get the answer. If she didn’t know she’d get out the dictionary or the encyclopaedia and find out. She returned to University study when she was in her fifties and completed her BA by correspondence. She was the family Scrabble champion. I acknowledged Mum for her dedication to her family. I remembered how she and Dad had travelled to Canada twice when our first two babies were born, both times in the depths of an Ontario winter. Mum remembered how the icicles had dripped off the guttering.

Rosey continued by acknowledging Mum for her love of the natural world, for the interest she took in the native flora in Western Australia and for her efforts to preserve the bush. She particularly noted how Mum was able to convert Dad to someone who appreciated the bush even though he never got past referring to most plants as ‘hovea’. Rosey mentioned how Mum had style and a wonderful sense of colour and design. She could arrange a vase of flowers, embroider a cloth, make her own clothes and carry it all off with great aplomb.

Hilary began by reminding everyone to charge their glasses. She noted that Mum had run a well-organised household. Rosters were created for household chores. The kids would come home from school and find notes reminding them about jobs that had to be done that afternoon, ‘Hilary, feed the chooks’, ‘David, get in the cows’, ‘Randall, set the table’ and so on. Mum participated generously in community life, the church, schools, the golf club and many more, often in leadership roles. Hilary recalled once having a conversation with Mum about being involved in community groups. Mum’s advice was to be the President. All you had to do was delegate and then make sure the jobs were done.

“Let’s drink to Mum, a wonderful mother, grandmother, sister, and aunty; a loyal friend, dedicated naturalist and Honorary President of the Jasper family.”

We raised our glasses to toast a wonderful woman. There was not a dry eye in the house.