Mom and the Man and Plenty of Fish!

At the very end of her life, my mother, had a love affair.  She met him on “Plenty of Fish.”  She was 76, he was 84.  I’ll take credit for being the facilitator of this twilight union because I wrote her profile.  But the rest was all her. 

Mom was pretty and cheeky and a kick-ass girl.  She viewed the world from the left side.  She rallied after divorce from my father in 1970 by attending university to achieve a degree in anthropology.  It wasn’t such a common sight in those days to see a pretty, young single mother of 4 taking fulltime classes and writing exams.  Several years later, from her perch as a career counsellor at the newly minted Malaspina College, she founded the first women’s centre in Nanaimo.   A heady and hopeful project in a time of renewed feminism. 

Mom was an ardent cheerleader for lost souls… men, as well as women…. and she frequently offered emotional and practical shelter to others who needed a pit stop.  This included our friends when we were growing up.  I remember living with my best friend in a canvas tent in our back yard because the bedrooms on the inside were full to busting.  Our home was a melting pot of creative activity and uncommon liaisons.  Growing up in a time of social experimentation, this all felt very exciting.  Upon reflection, however, I think it was also just abit confusing.  Boundaries were vague.  

  

Twenty years later, after she retired from the college and a years or so after her second husband left... suddenly… as too many men do….with merely a note to punctuate his departure….she embraced the residuals of her loss and grief with volunteerism and off-the-beaten-track travel.   Donning her anthropology hat, Mom volunteered for a non-profit organization, Global Village, that sought to find western markets for third world crafters.  She also volunteered for CESO… Canadian Executive Services Organization. The two jobs, together, were a good pairing. They provided her with free travel to countries and places other people had barely heard of as well as opportunities to seek out crafters in need of a market. 

Her first trip for CESO was to Sierra Leone.  Thankfully, before civil war ravaged the country and the people.  The project was to develop college programs for women.  From there she went to Bolivia, Guyana, Guatemala, Kyrgysztan… a country I’d certainly never heard of before…. and Skoocumchuk, B.C.  All of this when she was well past the age of 60. 

Canadian Executive Services Org 

Despite all of her extreme travel and academic achievements, she still identified herself through her relationships with men.  She also had a playful, almost child-like quality about her that got lost in the seriousness of her disappointments with them.   So, as she resisted aging, it was good to see her giddy and hopeful with the anticipation of a last love.   

Sadly this last relationship did not end well.  We know now that at the end of her life she had “global deterioration of the brain.” A condition that brought on intermittent dementia-like, disinhibited behaviours, such as appearing in my kitchen one morning fully dressed… except from the waist down!  A mental image of which she thought was hilariously funny.  Her man, however did not.  They had just returned from an arduous 5 week trip to his native country of New Zealand.  An episode similar to this had happened at a public pool in Christchurch.  In all fairness to him, I think he realized he was taking on more than he bargained for.  He, afterall, had his own issues of aging to deal with.  The relationship ended soon after…. with evasiveness and a Valentine’s card claiming friendship, not love.  Even from dementia Mom recognized the tone.  She was dumped.  She was crestfallen. 

Six months after her return from New Zealand, Mom died suddenly of a massive heart attack.  No notice.  No sentimental good-byes.  No long, drawn out illness.  I think my brother was right when he said at her memorial that she chose her time.  She did a scan of her circumstances after reluctantly moving into an assisted living facility.  Living among "the inmates," as she called them.... she measured her heart from the inside and her future opportunities. They didn’t measure up.  And so, she checked out… on her terms.  With courage and decisiveness. She was a pragmatist.  But, I’m pretty sure Mom died of a broken heart. 

Adrienne Marjorie.  You are missed 

Happy Birthday, Mom.  September 28.