38 years later-Eulogy to our dear mother

Behind any death, there is a narrative of life, its hopes and fears, joys and sorrow and how it ended, was it sudden or protracted, peaceful or agonised.

This was the day, April 23rd 1975, mother V lost her long fought battle with cancer, I do recall many details of that particular day,  Dad was holding that hand held mirror in front of our Mum’s face to see if she was still breathing, that mirror had a plastic handle, that mirror that we all used so often, it was oval in shape, molded around with some sort of plastic, light green plastic, it was a complete set with a hairbrush and a comb that was always sitting on top of her vanity, the beige colored vanity mounted with tri fold mirrors.

         We were all standing there, Cyril, Bernard, Dad and myself, well of course Cyril was in someone's arms, can't recall who was holding him, he was too young to perceive what was unravelling, then Dad said in a soft tone... she is gone.. li fine aller... Mama fine aller.........."her last breath". Not sure what it meant back then...not sure how we reacted, Dad was surely relieved, relieved that her pains were over, we were all looking at Dad and he had that unwavering stare at our mother's lifeless body for quite a while, his lifelong partner was gone, there was silence in the room but then, another kind of pain was suddenly seeping upon us and suddenly, for some odd reason, Cyril who was only one year old at that time, started crying endlessly, he must have felt something was wrong... he must have felt the separation...

I have tons of memories of that cute little house on 6 Dugarreau street, it was a two bedroom wooden house with a sheet metal roof, there was a third bedroom on top of the concrete brick garage that we erected a few years after the property was acquired, turned out to be my favourite bed room a few years later. This house was also fenced with a brick wall, the main entrance door was made out of steel tubing covered with galvanised sheet metal, the door gave way to four steps which brought you up to a twenty feet walkway, to the left of the walkway was our garden surrounded with beds of roses that V adored spending time with, Remi was the gardener who use to keep the grass perfectly trimmed and the roses pampered, I was always intrigued by Remi's bicycle, it was one of the rare bicycle that had racing handlebars, we had no lawn mower, just a simple well sharpened sickle and a scythe that had a long wooden handle and grip, he used to carry that 6 feet scythe on his bicycle and he handled that scythe like a pro, but a pro he was. The grass, as I clearly remember was the oh so tough and famous l’herbe bourrique, only a Remi with a scythe was able to trim that grass. In the center of the garden stood a peach tree, white peach and at the far end to the right of the garage doors was a willow tree and to the left there was a papaya tree, yes we had another set of garage door that oddly led to our garden, they were painted in bright orange. Dad used to park his car on the lawn! A Morris -1100, N700 was the license plate number. The peach tree, we waited years on end for it to flourish and come to fruition, it had pink flowers and mother V loved her peach tree but I am not sure she got the chance to taste any of the fruits.

You go up the walkway and it will take you straight to another concrete set of stairs up into the main entrance of our house, seven steps it had, the center of the stairs were highly polished with red floor wax, the extremities were painted in white, seven steps, I used to count them, the last step was lower than the rest of them.

The galvanised steel door was always locked, we took pleasure banging on it when we got home to announce our arrival, you can bet anyone inside the property and the whole neighbourhood could hear it, but the first member of the family that would show up at the door to welcome us was Ringo, our famous german shepherd, son of Lucky and Molly. Ringo used to understand commands in Chinese, no joke; Uncle Andre trained him for a while.


Morris-1100

                 Once you walk through the front door of our house, you will find yourself into the living room, it had white walls and large windows, this is where we spent countless hours watching our black and white television, it was located against the left hand corner of the living room, to its right was our first ever stereo sound system, it was a Toshiba, just a vinyl turn table and two speakers, played a lot of Jim Reeves, The sound of music, Boney M, Neil Diamond, Tom Jones and one of my favorite instrumental band..The Shadows, to the left was a bedroom that I shared with brother Bernard, walk straight forward was the dining room that was also used as her final resting place before she left this house for ever, she was wearing a light colored dress, I believe it was light blue, her body was lying peacefully on a wooden bed frame against the window, no mattress, I am still wondering why there was no mattress, I recall we had a yellow canary in a cage hanging right outside that same window, Tino, Tino Rossi was the name I gave him, he used to sing and chirp every morning, but on that particular day he was silent...
         To the left of the Dining room was the master bedroom, this is where she spent the last months of her life, Dad had rented a special bed for her, the room had a door that led to a small back yard where the bathroom and toilet was located, her bedroom had a single window with steel pipes, the window was facing the exterior brick fence, looking out the window you can't help noticing that the brick wall had broken glass bottles cemented and  scattered randomly  all over the top as a deterrent to intruders.
            We spent part of our childhood at 6 Dugarreau, quiet street, nice neighbors, the Chan hing kun's next door also happened to have the same civic address as ours, yes we both had # 6 Dugarreau, somehow, apparently both properties used to belong to the same owner thus the same house number.. go figure, In reality our civic number was 6 bis Dugarreau.
             Mum and Dad had to go to England to get her some Radiation treatment, can't remember for how long they were gone, not sure who it was but some aunt or uncle came to stay at our house to baby sit us, I believe it was Ton Jean and aunt Bert, aunt Danielle was also very present, I remember having made the "welcome back" lettering I had cut out of some red paper to stick on the living room wall as a welcome sign for her return, she was so happy to be back home regardless of the outcome of the treatment.
She must have been more worried about our future than anything else, a single Dad with three young siblings to raise, the youngest being one year old.
How in the hell can anyone remotely imagine how to raise three kids alone, I in the first place cannot see myself doing this, I am certain that the little values she has imparted upon us before she left this world had a lot to do with what we are today, her genes are definitely influencing a lot of our decisions and general behaviour, this is strong and deep, I do not have any words or scientific way of explaining it, but this is the way I see it, the way I feel it deep within my veins, this is the maternal inheritance she left behind for us . I am still not convinced about some higher spirit watching over us, this is not my cup of tea, she was very religious I recall and I respect that but my perceptions regarding this matter were and are possibly influenced by the circumstances that happened earlier in my life and it stops here for me, period.

            Her last phrases to us, I remember her calling upon us while she was lying in her bed weakened by the disease, she had a hard time speaking, her throat was always dry due to the gruesome radiation treatment, I was standing by that white forged steel bed with brass ornaments while holding on to the right post, that bed we loved to jump on and spend time with mother V and Dad on Sunday mornings when we were kids, Dad was by my side, brother Bernard standing by me, she said: "Papick, Bernard, if you have any problems...or have any questions or needs, go to your dad... he knows a lot and will help you with anything you need"... that was it... this sentence meant a lot but I guess we did not understand the whole meaning of this sentence, but today I do... she knew deep down inside that she was not going to make it, she knew the battle was lost, she knew this did not make any sense, she knew she had to leave this family she put together without being able to accomplish all her tasks as a mother, she was in pain, not from the disease but in pain and worried about how her soul mate will fare out raising three kids alone, how will her siblings grow up without the maternal protection and she was in greater pain knowing that she had to leave against her will, she was in greater pain knowing that there is nothing else she can do except to wait for that last breath that she will be allowed to take until everything goes blank.... what a shame... what a waste....

But little did she know, she had already accomplished a lot, who can even imagine at 36 being owner of four properties, yes, not one or two but four, this may sound materialistic but a home for each kid was how she had it planned, she had already paved the way for us, all her plans worked out well except for one over which she had no control whatsoever.

Dad and mother V worked hard, very hard, a lot of sacrifices were done, we lived a very simple and humble life as I recall, we did not have much, in reality, we had a lot, we had a tight family, short lived but a tight happy family until that bleak day back in April 1975.
 In another conversation or email exchange to be more specific, we were wondering my brothers and I, how our life would have panned out, had she been around today? She would have turned 73-74 years old, retired and babysitting her grandchildren on weekends. She would have certainly pushed us explore our limits in life, perfectionist as she was. But as aforementioned, we all turned out all right, many thanks to Dad and MC and all the other members of the immediate family who helped babysitting us and raising us. But somehow, on the other hand, instinctively, we all knew what we had to do, what we wanted to be, this was nurtured into us by a caring mother who gave it to us all since the day we were born.

There were tons of people visiting during her funeral, all the neighbors showed up, all families and relatives, her colleagues from the school where she used to teach , we both attended the same school Ber and I, Notre dame de la paix RCA, we all walked to school every morning, it was a 15 minutes’ walk, rain or shine. Mother V in front, with her umbrella when the sun was shining, me following in her footsteps, brother Ber right behind me, yellow shirt and marine blue shorts were our uniforms, we literally looked like two little ducklings following mother duck..get the picture? Yellow uniforms? And we did that daily trip for days on. On rainy days, she would put on a transparent plastic rain hood over her head ,she always kept that plastic hood folded in her hand bag, ready to go anytime it was needed, dark blue raincoat and the usual umbrella in hand and we would be wearing black rubber boots to school, Ber and I both had similar boots, we would walk closer to her under the protection of the umbrella, under her protection, we looked for puddles to test the waterproof qualities of our boots, many times wandering away from the protection of the umbrella and little did we care if we got wet, then we would hear the familiar voice calling us back to discipline, it did not take much for us to get back into ranks, she had a tough hand under silk gloves.

                Dad was working at De La Salle RCA, a different school, he usually leaves the house a few minutes later and drove by us on Lapaix street and would sound off his typical rhythm of honker... pimp,pimp____ pipipimp, I am sure some of you will remember what it sounded like. Every morning, same routine, mother duck, the two ducklings walking down the street then came about the Morris Austin 1100 mounted on hydrolastic suspension.
                And every morning, we walked by the beige color chapel at the school entrance, she would pause for a few seconds in front of the chapel fence, saying her prayer  while we waited impatiently to go greet our school mates, she was the only one who knew what she was praying for, what were her wishes, but she never said a word, never complained, I understood she also never complained during the whole phase of her sickness until she passed away, today it’s hitting me hard, 38 years later, today I know what she was praying for, she was asking for redemption…asking for forgiveness…..forgiveness for what? What did she do to deserve this treatment?

and the story continues as promised…

  One of the property we used to own was the cottage in Pereybere, north of the island, this property and the adjacent lots were acquired by Dad and the uncles, so we had 5 lots in total each and every Wan’s brothers acquired a piece from Mr. Nundlall, a resident of Triolet, the Nundlall’s used to cultivate this lot and when Dad purchased it, he loaned it to a potato grower, he never really charged him any rent but he was bartering potatoes in return, this was Dad’s queer way of doing business but it was not long until we retook possession of the property, we started planting trees in rows on this lot, Casuarinas , locally known as “Filaos”, it is a type of evergreen and belongs to the Casuarinaceae family, I am by no means a botanist but I can still recall that geography class at Notre Dame RCA when this was first introduced to me, amazing how the brain can recall small little details from decades back and forget the name of a person we just met 2 minutes ago, well this is me.

        So while I am in still in this recollection trance, I remember how we planted those trees in rows, every 5 feet apart, I was doing the 5 steps to locate the next hole that needed to be dug and in went the next Casuarina, we planted hundreds and it was amazing how fast they grew, they were tough trees, some are still there and could tell stories if they could talk, they were all planted to the north west side of the cottage and would bring tons of shade to shield the cottage from the intense afternoon sun rays as mother V explained to us. Some coconut trees also went into the ground, coco Pemba was the species, and in fact this variety came from Pemba, a small island near Tanzania, off the coast of Zanzibar.

I also remember the weeks we spent running a galvanized water pipe along the sandy trail that led to the main road of Pereybere, we manually dug for months on end with picks and shovels and connected one pipe at a time, it was a ¾ of an inch diameter galvanized pipe that was then connected to the main water pipe which was located along the main road of Peyrebere, I clearly remember doing this job with Ton Ticou, Ton Jacob, Dad and whoever were present to help,  I can also map out where we installed the main shutoff valve somewhere near the entrance of the property, like a treasure spot, hidden underground inside  a cement contraption. Every week end, when arrived at the cottage, my job was to open the main water valve and close it off when we leave at the end of our stay. 

           It was always hot, sunny and sweaty, we usually dug the whole day, connecting and burying water pipes after water pipes and the reward at the end of a hard day’s work was a nice dip in the sea. After a few months’ work, we finally succeeded reaching the main water pipe, we did the final connection and opened the valve, I ran back to the cottage trying to outrun the water flow and to go check if we effectively had running water, it was almost a kilometer run, I made it on time to hear the hissing of air exiting the pipe together with a mix of murky water, then after a few minutes the water would clear out, this precious water brought life to the cottage, the cottage that mother V would cherish and enjoy but only for a very short while, this precious water brought life to this white and orange cottage, the first pioneering cottage in that area, this water would fill up the reserve concrete water tank that was located on top of the building, we would access the roof by a steel ladder that was secured to the north east wall, as afore mentioned, the first mandate I had every time we would visit was to open the main water valve and then immediately climb up the roof to check if water was flowing adequately. Dad would always ask from down below about the level of water, so I would peek inside a small hole in between the lids, a small imperfection when the concrete lid was poured.. darn, I can still remember that little hole and the reflection of the water , the reflection of my eye peeking through the hole and the little bugs, leaves and dust specks that was floating on the surface of the water.

We started building this brick cottage with the help of a contractor who also happened to live in Triolet, this cottage was erected one brick at a time. Dad would spend many evenings there to supervise and evaluate the progression of our cottage; we would visit on weekends only, playing in the sand, gravel and dirt with makeshift trucks or Lorries that we put together brother B and I with pieces of wood and planks pulled out from the construction debris. That were our only toys and we were very satisfied and happy with what we had.

The cottage had 4 bedrooms, there was a car port at the main entrance supported by two wide concrete beams, the main door was made out of wood, small pieces of scrap or left over pieces of teak that were cleverly crafted into square tiles by the precise hands of uncle Ticou, needless to say that this door was strong, heavy, unique and most importantly well-crafted to resist all intruders except for one… me…. yes me. I ripped it off its hinges when I was trying my hands on Dad’s car, I was only 11, not licensed to drive but I definitely knew how to work the shifter and the clutch, thanks to Uncle Phil but let’s say that my steering abilities were not as sharp as I wanted it to be. Dad was annoyed but not mad when the door came off its hinges, he was the one who asked me to move the car away from the sun and park it under the car port, the car bumper was scratched and the door quickly fixed by uncle Ticou.

A step through the main entrance, you would be standing in the combined living and dining room, the kitchen was to the right and to the left was the living room, TV and a custom made cement based “sofa” if I can call it this way, there were 3 cushions on top of the cement sofa, the cushions were simple pieces of foam covered with vinyl leather once again all crafted by uncle Ticou, red in color as I remember it and in the living room, we had a set of rattan sofa seats and table where most of us spent numerous hours playing rummy and the occasional poker. I recall one of the poker games where I clearly had the upper hand with a trio of queens and I was challenging Uncle Tony who had two pairs of some other cards, Dad took a peek at my hand and he started counter betting for me and getting more excited than me, Uncle Tony and Dad got into that challenging mood of counter betting, me in the mean time watching silently the rooster fight, the outcome was somewhat funny in the end, the loser would walk away like a dog with the tail between its legs and the winner would be fanning its wings and feathers like a challenging rooster who just won a fight and we were betting with real money... I am sure you get the picture.

 The living room would lead to a long corridor along the east side of the building enter the corridor to the right was the toilet and bathroom and along the left hand side were the 3 bedrooms,  at the far left end was the master bedroom with its own shower and toilet .The master bedroom is where V enjoyed the last moments of her life in her newly built cottage, unfortunately, once again as I clearly recall, she was lying down most of the time trying to recuperate from the ill effects of the radiation treatments she had undergone to treat her disease, she was weak , so weak that she would hardly spend time outside, brother B and I spent countless hours outdoors, brother C, too young to run around , was being watched by his baby sitter which also happened to be the maid of the house. On rare occasions, mother V would pull up a rattan seat and sit under the car port to watch us run around the property and it was not too long until she had to go back to her room to lie down.

Once in a while, I would peek back into her room, entering from the door that gave way to the back yard, to check on her, not certain why I would do that, to talk to her maybe, to get into a conversation but that was never the case, she was always sleeping, not sure what was my reaction or thoughts, not sure I had a grasp of the picture, all I remember is that most of the time, she was sleeping, not a moan, not a complaint, just sleeping, sleeping and waiting with the remote hope of waking up feeling better… but that wish never materialised, she hardly ate anything, she would swallow just liquids or soups. I gathered later in some discussions that V never really complained about anything during the whole phase of her sickness, never really complained about the pain she was going through, she was a tough lady, or she simply never wanted to share with any of us the hell hole she was stuck into, she simply accepted her fate, accepted the reality and she knew that showing her emotions will only break us down furthermore, her body was already broken in pieces, there was no way to fix it, no way to heal it,  nobody could help her, any expression of grievance would simply be futile, so why share this resentment, pain and suffering with others…

The day of the final funeral ceremonies, the most emotional day for everyone around, I recall watching, curious as I have always been, the funeral attendants lighting up some charcoal in a small cast iron pot in the side alley of the house, they then inserted their soldering iron between the red hot coal and waited for it to reach welding temperature. Funeral services were very basic and primitive back in the days, but this was what we had, this was how it was done. The priest, I believe it was Father Maillot, and I may be wrong here, “grand Maillot, Ti Maillot” this is still stuck somewhere in my brain, since there was two  Father Maillots, one being taller and the other one vertically challenged.

 Father Maillot walked into the dining room where the body of V was resting in the casket, her body was transferred from the bed frame into the casket at one point in time, Father Maillot gathered everyone around and said his last prayer, it was a very tense and emotional moment and it got even more emotional when it was time to seal the casket, the funeral attendants brought along a piece of sheet metal, tin to be more specific and laid it over the casket to be welded, then came the heated soldering iron, they ran some flux ,commonly known as rosin, around the edges of the casket, the smell of burning rosin was overwhelming, it is basically a mixture of resin that comes from pines and conifers, the rosin smoked the whole room, a piece of solder was then used to weld the tin foil, the soldering iron was hissing and spattering the flux and fumes, heavy smoke was emanating from the soldering iron. Emotions ran very high, everyone cracked down, everyone burst into tears and was in pain, harrowing pain, including my brothers and myself, that was the last time we would physically see V and her lifeless body resting peacefully. This is not a scene we experience too often and this is not a scene we wish to experience at all…the casket lid was then installed, secured down and sealed…..sealed until the end of time......

 

The customs back on the island may sound strange to some who have never experienced it, the sealed casket was then moved and carried away by some members of the family, carried on their shoulders, from our home on Dugarreau Street to the St Louis Cathedral on Pope Hennessy street, this was in a sense the final walk of the deceased, her final exposure to familiar environment and to the people. Family members would take turns to carry the casket all the way down La Paix street, we then took a left turn on Dauphine street which led us to the St-Louis Cathedral. All the way along the road, neighbours, relatives and friends would step out their homes and stand along the sidewalk to watch the funeral procession and pay their final respects, some would join the procession to the church, many of them are parents whose child or children have once been a student of V when she was teaching at De la Paix RCA. After the ceremony at the church, the casket was then driven to Bois Marchand cemetery in Terre rouge to her final resting place, after V was finally buried, we all started feeling some relief, we put an end to this whole chapter or I should say this short chapter of V’s life to be more appropriate.

Today, 38 years later, I am starting to realise how smart and courageous V was…. today I understand, today the smoke is gradually dissipating, today it is crystal clear to me, today I can relate to this whole scenario that was unwinding in front of our eyes..38 years prior, but we were too overwhelmed with the situation to understand, or I for one, was simply too young to decipher the concealed message.

It took me close to four decades.. and tell me I am extrapolating and repeating myself, but this the way I envision this , V had a message for us all, a hidden message, a subtle message,  it took me a lot of dredging to elucidate her message, it took a lot to expound and merely apprehend what she was trying to convey…. this is the inheritance she left behind for us to grasp upon and this is my personal perception of  her message and by all means, anyone is legitimately entitled to refute and disagree:-

To my sons, accept who you are, accept your fate and destiny, accept your pains, don’t ever complain, more so when you are well and healthy, keep focused and positive, find solutions and not excuses. During turmoil, contention and torment, stay open, be constructive and not destructive, look at the bright side of things and you will see light, look at the dark side and you will be thinking negatively, you will see voids.

She taught us to be strong and to never give up, she never gave up… but something else gave up on her, something she had no control over ….and she accepted it with humility….without complaint, without saying a single word…a lesson of life, a lesson we can hardly perceive, a life we will never be exposed to or remotely have a chance to fathom as she did during her very short visit on this earth.

 

To mother V, the rarest of all, even if your presence was very short lived, you taught us many things. The mere fact that your blood and genes still flows within our veins, conducts our daily actions and decisions, hard to believe but… combined together, we are who you were.

….I guess I have to end it here, it was meant after all to be a eulogy to our dear Mother, I apologise if I wandered away a few times, but I am who I am, I am part of who she was….