Empty Chair
The owner of this chair, my mother, was born in 1918 – just as the First World War ended.
She was one of 6 children, living through hard times, austerity and constant financial crisis.
She met my father, born in 1913, who had 8 brothers and sisters and her family did not approve of him nor of their engagement.
However, she loved him, defied her family and married him in 1935.
My sister was born in 1937 and whilst she was still a toddler, my father was sent off to the war in the Middle East to fight the Afrika Korps headed by General Rommel.
As a Desert Rat, he was fighting out there for 5 years; was trapped during the siege of Tobruk and bombarded non-stop for 10 months by German planes and artillery. During this terrible seige, 30,000 British troops deserted and escaped into the desert. My father stayed and fought.
He came back a changed man but with some very close friends and comrades, Desert Rats and Gurkhas alike, with whom he had served and fought side by side with in the desert. He stayed in touch with those he had befriended and served with until the year he died.
During the Second World War, my mother and sister were evacuated and relocated deep into the countryside, far away from the frequently bombed Portsmouth Naval Base and stayed in touch by letter with my father in the volatile and unpredictable Middle East.
On his return from the war, jobs were hard to find and my father struggled to find employment. He was desperate, so he went for an interview for a job he had never done before and knew nothing about.
When he was offered it, he immediately took it and then spent the next few days being taught how to do it by his brother.
He later excelled at the job he initially knew nothing about and won awards for his skill and quality of workmanship.
My mum, dad and sister moved into a little 2 bedroom house in 1948 and my mother, as independent and as stubborn as ever, still lives there, on her own, today.
It is where the now empty chair and all her memories are and she will not be moved.
She loves the house because it is “full of memories” for her and it is her home.
Sixteen years after my sister was born and exactly 9 months after a happy Christmas celebration, I arrived on the scene – much to my mother’s utter surprise. She had gone to the Doctor feeling tired, run down and nauseous and came home with the news that she was pregnant, with me. For me to burst on the scene as a new and unplanned addition to the family, was a big surprise for all.
My mother wanted to take a part time job to help with the finances, but my father would not allow it – he alone was the bread winner and sole provider for his family.
He worked harder and took on another job to make ends meet now that I was around and there was an extra mouth to feed.
Neither my mother nor my father coveted material possessions. They lived simply and frugally within their means.
My father died prematurely in 1984 and my mother was heartbroken. She never remarried because she only ever had one true love in her life – the man her family disapproved of and who had stood by her, provided for her, paid all the bills and kept a roof over her head for 50 years.
No-one would ever match up to my father and that’s how it remains to this day.
Since my father died, she has lived alone in the little house she loves for almost 30 years and treasures all her fond memories tied into it.
My mother is now in hospital, very weak and fighting once again to beat her illnesses.
Her heart is very weak and there has been a “Do not resuscitate” order in place since May 2013 and still she fights on.
Although she is clearly getting weaker in hospital, she still talks of getting back to her home once again, where all her memories are and of sitting in her chair by the window watching the world go by with a photo of my father by her side. She takes a photo of him everywhere with her.
My mother was 95 this year and my father would have been 100 this year had he lived - so that's a lot of living and a lot of memories between them.
This is a big chair to fill.
It might be empty but it is full of memories.
UPDATE Spring 2014
The chair in the photograph is now by my mothers bedside in the care home with her.
She is too weak to get out of bed and sit in it but it is there for her to look at and feel comfort from.
She is the weakest she has ever been and is only now able to move her head and eyes.
Her fighting spirit is often mentioned and admired by the nursing staff as she still battles her various health problems.
The "Do Not Resuscitate" order has now been in place for just over a year but so far, it has not been needed.
A small 2 inch sq silver framed portrait of my father is on the table over her bed. She nods and smiles at it every single day and whispers "Goodnight" to it without fail.
UPDATE June 2014: Morphine; anti-biotics; chest infection; water infection; blood clots; Warfarin; hallucinations; high temperature; bad dreams; struggling to eat and drink; delirious; breathing difficulties; random thoughts and ramblings; incoherent at times and a Do Not Resuscitate order.
The family have been called in several times during the night over the past few weeks to say "Goodbye" to her, as she was not expected to make it through the night on multiple occasions.
However, she continues to survive the doctors worst fears and expectations but gets slowly weaker after each major trauma.
The consultant called her a "fighter" yesterday.
My mum was 96 this year and had he lived my father would have been 101.
"Who knows where the time goes" Sung by Judy Collins Lyrics by Sandy Denny
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJeLguRecYc
UPDATE Mum passed away in her sleep in the early hours of 29 Oct 2014.
Free of pain at last.
RIP Mum 1918 - 2014
Empty Chair
The owner of this chair, my mother, was born in 1918 – just as the First World War ended.
She was one of 6 children, living through hard times, austerity and constant financial crisis.
She met my father, born in 1913, who had 8 brothers and sisters and her family did not approve of him nor of their engagement.
However, she loved him, defied her family and married him in 1935.
My sister was born in 1937 and whilst she was still a toddler, my father was sent off to the war in the Middle East to fight the Afrika Korps headed by General Rommel.
As a Desert Rat, he was fighting out there for 5 years; was trapped during the siege of Tobruk and bombarded non-stop for 10 months by German planes and artillery. During this terrible seige, 30,000 British troops deserted and escaped into the desert. My father stayed and fought.
He came back a changed man but with some very close friends and comrades, Desert Rats and Gurkhas alike, with whom he had served and fought side by side with in the desert. He stayed in touch with those he had befriended and served with until the year he died.
During the Second World War, my mother and sister were evacuated and relocated deep into the countryside, far away from the frequently bombed Portsmouth Naval Base and stayed in touch by letter with my father in the volatile and unpredictable Middle East.
On his return from the war, jobs were hard to find and my father struggled to find employment. He was desperate, so he went for an interview for a job he had never done before and knew nothing about.
When he was offered it, he immediately took it and then spent the next few days being taught how to do it by his brother.
He later excelled at the job he initially knew nothing about and won awards for his skill and quality of workmanship.
My mum, dad and sister moved into a little 2 bedroom house in 1948 and my mother, as independent and as stubborn as ever, still lives there, on her own, today.
It is where the now empty chair and all her memories are and she will not be moved.
She loves the house because it is “full of memories” for her and it is her home.
Sixteen years after my sister was born and exactly 9 months after a happy Christmas celebration, I arrived on the scene – much to my mother’s utter surprise. She had gone to the Doctor feeling tired, run down and nauseous and came home with the news that she was pregnant, with me. For me to burst on the scene as a new and unplanned addition to the family, was a big surprise for all.
My mother wanted to take a part time job to help with the finances, but my father would not allow it – he alone was the bread winner and sole provider for his family.
He worked harder and took on another job to make ends meet now that I was around and there was an extra mouth to feed.
Neither my mother nor my father coveted material possessions. They lived simply and frugally within their means.
My father died prematurely in 1984 and my mother was heartbroken. She never remarried because she only ever had one true love in her life – the man her family disapproved of and who had stood by her, provided for her, paid all the bills and kept a roof over her head for 50 years.
No-one would ever match up to my father and that’s how it remains to this day.
Since my father died, she has lived alone in the little house she loves for almost 30 years and treasures all her fond memories tied into it.
My mother is now in hospital, very weak and fighting once again to beat her illnesses.
Her heart is very weak and there has been a “Do not resuscitate” order in place since May 2013 and still she fights on.
Although she is clearly getting weaker in hospital, she still talks of getting back to her home once again, where all her memories are and of sitting in her chair by the window watching the world go by with a photo of my father by her side. She takes a photo of him everywhere with her.
My mother was 95 this year and my father would have been 100 this year had he lived - so that's a lot of living and a lot of memories between them.
This is a big chair to fill.
It might be empty but it is full of memories.
UPDATE Spring 2014
The chair in the photograph is now by my mothers bedside in the care home with her.
She is too weak to get out of bed and sit in it but it is there for her to look at and feel comfort from.
She is the weakest she has ever been and is only now able to move her head and eyes.
Her fighting spirit is often mentioned and admired by the nursing staff as she still battles her various health problems.
The "Do Not Resuscitate" order has now been in place for just over a year but so far, it has not been needed.
A small 2 inch sq silver framed portrait of my father is on the table over her bed. She nods and smiles at it every single day and whispers "Goodnight" to it without fail.
UPDATE June 2014: Morphine; anti-biotics; chest infection; water infection; blood clots; Warfarin; hallucinations; high temperature; bad dreams; struggling to eat and drink; delirious; breathing difficulties; random thoughts and ramblings; incoherent at times and a Do Not Resuscitate order.
The family have been called in several times during the night over the past few weeks to say "Goodbye" to her, as she was not expected to make it through the night on multiple occasions.
However, she continues to survive the doctors worst fears and expectations but gets slowly weaker after each major trauma.
The consultant called her a "fighter" yesterday.
My mum was 96 this year and had he lived my father would have been 101.
"Who knows where the time goes" Sung by Judy Collins Lyrics by Sandy Denny
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJeLguRecYc
UPDATE Mum passed away in her sleep in the early hours of 29 Oct 2014.
Free of pain at last.
RIP Mum 1918 - 2014