Bricks

A recent visit to see my mother went surprisingly well.  Such occasions have become rare, and for these happier times I am most grateful.  The afternoon was shared with a couple of dear friends, whom she has known for over 30 years.  The impact of their presence cannot be overstated and, if I have learnt anything of late, it has been to bring along with me the past, and leave behind any reference to the present.  

They having not seen Mum for several years, I spent the our journey there pre-warning them both as to what we might find and who might, or might not, meet us as we arrived.  I am getting better at expecting the unexpected.  Or, perhaps more accurately, I have been forced to adjust by expecting very little of my visits.  I am not, nor do I wish to ever be, a gambler, but I now know the odds involved and have worked out that, these days, they're rarely in my favour.  

As it happened, that afternoon she could not have been on better form... There she was, alone in her room, sitting in her chair, facing the window which overlooks a magnificent copper beech.  Her eyes were closed, as they now so often are.  She was dozing.  On stirring, she not only recognised me, but seemed delighted to behold me as I stood there, tentatively greeting her before announcing the company I brought with me.

She recognised them both and, as we sat down with the cups of tea (in plastic beakers) brought to us by helpful staff who buzz around whenever I visit, proceeded to respond to each of the multiple references from the 'good old days'.  People, places, and things all came to mind.  Our interactions were calm and blissfully uncontentious.  

Within moments of hearing, and apparently absorbing, that we'd travelled up together, she insisted we leave.  We were dismissed.  "You are bricks for coming", she said.  Again, and again.  She repeated this, a known (though long forgotten, having not been heard for some time) term of endearment.  They knew well what it meant.  And received it as such.

For, to be called a brick, is high compliment indeed.

This year, I have got to know who the bricks in my life are.  I am fortunate to have a few.  My friendships are the cement that, often times, hold me together.

Those visits that do not go so smoothly have a knack of ripping me apart at the sides.  I need bricks, and I cannot help but depend on mortar of the highest quality.  Resilience comes from within but must, I think, be supported and sustained by others.