Happy Mother’s Day Oma

Oma lives in a memory care facility because after Grandpa died, she started forgetting things and then it was downhill from there. I visted her last time we were in Australia and I thought it was so sad, but Mum said it was a nice facility that could give her all the help she needs so I shouldn’t be sad. Mum is philosophical about stuff like that but I live in a dream world, like Neo, so it was a shock to my system.
I have some great memories of Oma, like the time I got to go and stay with her and Grandpa ALL BY MYSELF, which felt like such an awesome treat, but maybe I was being palmed so Mum and Dad could have a break, or something. I did heaps of fun things that mostly involved church and gardening, which pretty much sum up Oma and Grandpa. I’m sure I would have whined like the whiny baby my sister apparently was on the long drive from our house to theirs, but I don’t remember that part.
Another visit we were all sewing or knitting, and Oma helped me unwind a bunch of knotted wool that I kept yanking at and would have thrown away. I don’t know why that is such a prominent memory. I’m sure it’s freudian without the sexual backstory, if that’s possible. Or just psychosomatic. Or just a subconscious storyline of my whole life. Or maybe it’s nothing.
I remember visiting Oma and Grandpa’s house and being in their room. Oma had a vanity set with a fancy little stool, and jewellery everywhere, and photos on the wall of people I sort of recognized. And a picture of their wedding day that I didn’t understand because she wasn’t wearing a big white gown. But she did have a big hat on, that in real life isn’t as big as I thought. I have it in my collection now, but it’s borderline too small for my noggin, so I’m saving it for something special. Perhaps a night out when I can drink and swear, just like Oma.
Happy Mother’s Day Oma. I miss you.


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