Her black and white photo still sits alone on the maple wood mantle. I’m lost in this fading memory that perhaps would be better off forgotten. Her calming voice speaks to me, helping to guide my family. In daydreams I brush her soft blemished cheek and her eyes weep. I will never truly know her; how she laughs or the reasons she smiles. If I truly looked into my mother’s eyes after all these years I’d surrender to tears that would make me feel warm.
Nobody knows the day I was born so I celebrate the 27th of May, today. It was in 1967 on this day when our own nation recognised us as citizens with thought and reason. We were forced from our families, the stolen generation. Schools refuse to teach it in the hope we also become the forgotten generation. I know that mother was a maid and father died shortly after I was taken – cigarettes and alcohol. I love my children endlessly with the subdued fear that they could be taken at any moment.
“Have I ever told you Catherine?” I implore. “How full your eyes are, and how much that comforts me.”
“Yes, you have,” she smirks. “You were thinking about her weren’t you?”
“The photo. I can spend hours…”
“Can I get your help to cut the cake? Quickly?” she asks, looking down. “This one could come any moment.”
I kiss and thank my boys James and Charlie, a peck for Catherine and one on her strained belly for the unborn Boddah.
“HOLY SH… UH CRAP!”
Catherine cries in exasperation, her water breaks and the room starts to shake. My mind races in a panic and I stare again at my mother’s picture to restore balance. I am in this moment. I am here and I always will be. My smile, my voice and my eyes will forever comfort my children. Nobody can change that.
James fumbles for his seatbelt, the car kicks into gear, Catherine moans and Charlie cries. I beat the red light and park the car, we rush inside and I scribble on a form. The kids sit down, the benches crowded and Catherine finds her bed. She takes my hand, she breaks my hand and the doctor says she’s doing well. My head and heart ache, my vision blurs, sounds become distant and Catherine’s all I see. Her face strains, her back arches before she collapses in relief. Boddah’s in my arms, I cry fresh tears of sadness and joy, I hold her to my chest and I feel warm. I am here.
Catherine turns to me and wipes my tears “Are you okay?”
“Yes” I manage. “She has her eyes.”