Mother, update from your son

Last October, mother, you left me for your heavenly rewards. I am sorry I was not with you in the final hours.

We placed your ashes in the Ocean where one of your brothers can visit. I hope your spirit soared all the back to your beloved Thames River in England.

My auto accident still has left me unable to work, and sometimes when the headaches and body pains are severe, I wish I could talk with you about it. You always had some wisdom or wit to share that helped in such matters.

Last year I gave you the little red scooter planter for Mother's Day while you were at home. I am glad it brought a smile to your face and created something positive between us. Despite the plant having so little soil, you kept it alive right to the dead you departed this earth. You seemed to like it so much but never did tell anyone why. I always wondered if it reminded you of the Scooter I left in Rockferry, England.

There were things I wish we spoke about; I truly regret that we did not. I can use excuses because of my head injury or the difficulties physically or mentally you were having in the last year of your life. But that does not excuse the more than forty years we could have discussed issues, concerns, and the private residential school you sent me to.

My dear mother: I do need to share with you that after you died within seven days, your ex-husband and my father also died. I tried to make peace with him, but he died before he could have met his grandchildren. It seemed strange that my estranged brother, mother, and father would all be dead within a four-month period. I was all at once the last of my immediate family alive.

Mother, I did find your hidden file and notes; I guess you knew I would eventually find them. I will never fully understand why you kept things that reminded you of such pain. I also never thought or understood how closely you monitored and kept aware of me when I left home. I knew you cared but did not understand how much.

I waited until six months after your mother's death to approach the thorny issue of that school I went to for grade eight. I have written a short article called “My Agony and Grace.” I could never decide if you truly did not know the extent of the abuse I suffered at that school or chose not to know. All I know for sure was the bruising and the cut you saw on my bum, hips, and lower back when I dropped my pants and raised my shirt when I returned home at year-end.

I know you sent me they're worried I might follow in my brother’s footsteps, and you wanted me far away from the New Westminster provincial prison where he lived at that time. Did I need a firm male authority? The answer might be yes? I did not, however, need to be punched in the stomach by a thirty-plus-year-old male as your car drove away on the first day there.

My children are great, and I know they miss you. They are both amazing young adults, and I am proud of them. My immediate family and friends have blessed me. We will miss our Mother’s Day breakfasts with you.

We will raise a toss to you and think of the fond memories and all the good you did for others in your life.

Love your Son

Warren