Thursday, February 8, 2024
Everyone loved Leny (pronounced Laney).
In her family of six brothers and three sisters (all whom had passed before her, she was the last), they all had their nicknames, and hers (translated from dutch, “the Vredesmaker”) was “the Peacemaker”, she always wanted everyone to get along. Ironically, this noble quality and heartfelt desire, when peace between people was out of reach, it did not always bring her peace within herself. Yet this never stopped her from giving everyone she met, the warmest welcome, and the biggest smile.
In her last years, on our daily walks, she always waved and said hello to everyone we passed along the way. When people didn't reciprocate, she could never understand it, and would take it upon herself. That's just how she was. I would remind her, ”Not everyone is like you Mam, and that some people might just be having a bad day, it has nothing to do with you Mam.” She never gave up on her believe, always giving people the benefit of the doubt, believing that people in their essence, are friendly and good.
She especially loved seeing and greeting the dogs on our walks, because they reminded her of her best friend Bootsy (Shih Tzu). He had passed years ago, but she always had to tell the people about her own dog.
She was devoutly Catholic, and especially loved Maria. When we first moved to Newcastle, a couple of times, I took her to mass here at St. Francis Of Assisi, which in days past, had been her church. Following that, I would put on the Daily TV Mass for her every Sunday. If there were other special services, live or taped from the Vatican with Pope Francis, I would play them for her also. She watched the midnight mass live from the Vatican, and that made her Christmas day. Her last Christmas day.
She never liked to be a bother to anyone. In looking after her for this last year and a half, she would often ask me if she was a bother, saying, “Ik ben neit lastige?”. Some times I would joke with her about it, but more often told her, “No Mam, I am here for you, you are not a bother.” She was ever grateful in my caring for her, and every night, without fail, as I tucked her in her bed, this is what she always said, “Thank you so much for everything you do for me. And I mean it.” My reply, always the same, “No problem Mam, I love you. Have a good sleep. Welteruste.”
On what I didn't know at the time, would be my last day with her on this earth, she got up normal as usual. I made her her breakfast, and at about four in the afternoon, something started to go wrong. I was hoping it would pass, but progressively she became weaker and her breaths shorter. I tried putting her to bed, hoping if she could just find some sleep, in the morning she would be her old self again, but she could not find sleep. At about 8:00pm I called the ambulance. At the hospital a choice was given to us, of doing a heart procedure, which in the end might have taken her life, or to make her comfortable, and wait out the inevitable. We chose the later.
Right to the end of her life she was who she was, the Leny, that when people met her, instantly, they would fall in love. Even when on the gurny, she was wheeled into the hospital, the nurse told me later, that when my Mam saw her, she said, “You are so beautiful.”
In the room where my Mam and I would spend our last moments together in this life, I spoke with this nurse, that's when she told me of what my Mam had said to her, and how it made her feel so good. In my conversation I told the nurse how devoutly Catholic she was, and with that, the nurse asked if I wanted her to call a Priest, which she did. After the Priest had performed the last rights service, at 1:25am, on January 24th, 2024, my Mam breathed her last breath.
Leaving the hospital, getting into the car, I thought, and then said to my Mam, “You were never a bother Mam. Not even to this last day. Love you Mam.”
Petrus
Newcastle
January 30, 2024
Note: I was asked to write something about my Mam, so that Father John, the Priest who preformed the funeral service, would have something to work with, in order to do his homily. This is what I came up with, the evening before my Mam's funeral.
