My Mother, My Hero



Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant. And it occurred to me after I wrote on my father that I wanted to write on my mother—hell, I felt compelled—because she is alive and I’m crazy about her. And at some point, in the interest of remembering, we can forget the present as the word “ordinary” ceases to exist. Mind you; I wouldn’t describe my parents and my relationship with them as ordinary. I doubt most of you would. Remember what Philip Larkin wrote? “They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do.” Always makes me howl with laughter. I was blessed to have been brought up in an eclectic home. My family brought South Africa with them to London—braais, proteas, passion fruit juice, strong accents and soul.

“And then—gone.” In the midst of life, we are in death —Episcopalians say at the graveside. But we are in the midst of living always, and my mother was the key that unlocked cavernous wooden doors slammed violently shut. At first, second by second, then minute by minute, until hour by hour I regained life. Those moments when I was abruptly overtaken by exhaustion, she fed my shrinking frame with all manner of smoothies and my favourite chips in the whole wide world: Nik Naks. If you’ve ever smelt or touched their neon knobbles, you’ll know that that’s true love right there.

In the past few years—most especially—we have unpicked death, love, illness, luck, fate, addiction, strength, will, marriage, children and memory. I think this is because we have both have taken the time and actually relish the exploration of life and all its kaleidoscopic intricacies. My mother is a recovering alcoholic and she wouldn’t mind one bit that I mention that here. She’s as open about her sobriety as I am about my passion for scent. She’s eleven years sober this year, and if anyone knows about the ways in which people do and do not deal with the fact that life ends, about sanity, about being in the trenches, it’s her. When she told me after my father died that you can move on, that you’re allowed to because there’s happiness ahead of you, I believed her.

“It’s a brave thing, loving another person.” I’m laughing now, but my mother tells me she knows when my father and she conceived me. And I still smile every time she mentions it because I think its a beautiful memory for her, and as I like to remind her, she was lucky to get me! I want for her to know these daily moments we have together—even if they are more across the oceans nowadays—they’re some potent wizards. I want her to know that she shaped the way I see women. She taught me to love them and she exposed me to friggin’ awesome women doing friggin’ awesome things. She taught me about friendship and I’m sure that’s why I’ve been blessed with the best girls. She taught me to write stories and be authentic.

My mother is hilarious. She walks in and everything is better. If she walked into a room and it was beige, it would suddenly become brightly coloured. One thing I do remember is that my mother and my father were always laughing at each other’s jokes. The afternoon of the evening that he died we were in the hospital in Cape Town and it was just mum, dad and me; a rare moment of my perfect triangle. He took her hand and squeezed it tight and didn’t want to let go. I don’t think she did either. I’d never seen that between them, only heard about it, as they divorced when I was little. Still gives me goosebumps. At that moment, everything in my life came full circle. No one was watching me and I loved it. I was watching them imagining the whole sky lighting up in perpetuity.

My mother and I have repeated rituals we love to do together. Eat. Light candles. Read to each other. Oooooh and aaaah at a certain set of annual fireworks on the edge of an ocean. Build fires (metaphorical so far). Cook (me, her watching). Behold the world go by. Fragments that matter to us. She’s the only person I know who can tell me the name of every tree and plant wherever we may be walking. She’s the only person that can eat kale and make you think she’s eating pasta and fries. She’s the only person I know who gets genuinely upset that I still don’t carry tissues on my person for every single life occasion. She’s the only baby whisperer I know and I can’t wait til’ she has mine to whisper to. She’s the most generous soul I know, and now, right here in 2016, she believes in me the most. Not just for her, but for my father. She represents as Joan Didion said, ‘the constant changing of the earth, the unending erosion of the shores and mountains, the inexorable shifting of the geological structures that could throw up mountains and islands and could just as reliably take them away.’ Ladies and gents, that’s MY mother.


27 replies on “My Mother, My Hero

    • Your loving Aunt Wendy

      Darling K
      You have the capacity to share your heart – so moving and generous, with humour, sadnes , depth and insight and lots of wisdom.
      Love and admire you and your exciting journey that you are embracing with passion and courage.

      • Deborah Mitchell

        I absolutely loved reading this
        Kayla you are so clever a writer,
        It’s like watching a film reading these words although I know this wonderful courageous woman, I know others reading can bring to mind their own depth of feeling to their mothers and at the same time hearing and appreciating the amazing qualities of this wonderful woman who is yours. Your mom. X

  • Elisabeth

    oh KAYLA this is the most wonderful and loving homage I have ever read from a loving child to her mother! thank you for these words so beautifully expressed and right to the last dot!!!!!! I love you and Renee my dear friend I love you and thank you for having brought Kayla into this world and for having been able to see her growing up into this most beautiful human being, Full circle indeed!!!!!!

  • Leslie Back

    My goodness, this is amazing. A soul-baring love poem to your mother, it quite takes one’s breath away.
    Blessings on both of you.

  • Romy

    Your words are testament to the remarkable woman that your mom is. A loving relationship is an evolving relationship. The clue is in the word LOVE which spelt backwards is EVOL. May your love for each other continue to spin on life’s axis whilst you both continue to reach dizzying heights.

  • Karen

    Wow Kayla , thank God I had a tissue near me whilst I was reading ……what a beautiful description of your relationship with your mama , you are two special ladies and I love you both .
    Well done K and love from another K

  • Sandy

    This is so exquisitely written, my friend. I am just getting to know you and Renee and feel SO lucky to have fallen upon you both. Keep writing with such magnificence, your words shine such light into this world, as do you.

  • Cheryl Lewis

    Kayla .. My words would never be sufficient to express how totally moving inspiring and awesome your thoughts and feelings about you and your mum are .. An emotional roller coaster ..S memories of things past and present .. Love and laughter years and happiness ..threaded with your exceptional writing and expression .. Wow .. The best ?????

  • Coko

    K, keep your perfect triangle forever, past , present, and the entire future, I can just see you in that glorious moment, and how it bathed you in warm, sunny, joyous peace, absolute perfection, and it remains so today!
    You’re right on with Mum, she embodies all you describe, the best


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