The Way My Mother Lived

Carol Ann Duffy wrote a beautiful poem, The Way My Mother Speaks, and the opening is stunning –

I say her phrases to myself
in my head
or under the shallows of my breath,
restful shapes moving.

Recently, I’ve been thinking about the way my mother speaks. Before her words come to me, I experience an odd feeling, as though someone is about to tap me on the back. My muscles tighten and my mouth dries. It’s not an unpleasant sensation, but it does render me momentarily vulnerable. And, when Mum’s words do form, under the ‘shallows of my breath’, there’s a tangible excitement. It is a connection, without conflict, as though Mum has delivered ‘restful shapes’, through fingers placed lightly on my back.

As dementia unceremoniously created vast shards of darkness in her memory, Mum would repeatedly ask “where am I going?”, when perhaps she wasn’t going anywhere at all. I could hear her words, but I wasn’t interpreting them.

Looking back, I now hear this phrase in a somewhat altered tone. The words were like a window cracked slightly open; cool, clean air flooding in like a new season, reminding me that our roots are always shifting, whether swaying gently in the breeze or rushing long and loudly through the tall branches of ancient trees. In asking where she was going, Mum’s question was a process of transformation. There was rhythm in what she was saying; there will always be distance between where we were, where we are, and where we are going, even if that is nowhere at all.

In the last few weeks, I’ve had to alter my perspective. The child who once stood on the pedals of a bike, peering up in awe at the adult towering above me, has splayed the kickstand so I can peer in, in order to decipher not just Mum’s words, but a life stacked high with layers of exquisite detail; daughter, sister, wife, employee, granny, great granny, friend, social butterfly….

I’ve been listening to The Way My Mother Lives.

On the 6th of December, 2023, at 9.30am, a requiem mass was held for my mum at Holy Cross Church in Crosshill, Glasgow. Margaret (Maguire) McCuaig, as she was known to everyone but her five children, died in November after a long spell in hospital. She was 89. That number floats above the page like a long fulfilled promise, but, it stings sharply knowing that her magnum opus, in its current form, has been versioned to completion.

In making the preparations for Mum’s funeral, my siblings and I knew we wanted a personal eulogy, a tribute delivered by family, from the family. We met and chatted about our memories, and hers, and I went away to write the eulogy that my older brother would deliver in the chapel. It wasn’t easy, but it was a privilege.

I don’t want these words, written from the depths of my heart, to be lost to the world. Mum’s legacy as a woman who spoke, and lived, and was heard, should be enduring, so I’m placing the words below, and telling the world who our mummy was, and why we’ll never forget her.

When we were young, we used to tell people that our mum was born in a swimming baths. It wasn’t true, but like all myths there is an element of fact to it. Mum was born in February 1934, in St Frances Nursing home in Govan. She didn’t have far to travel home though, as her family lived across the street in a flat that was part of the swimming baths in Summertown Road. Mum was always proud of the fact that her father was the Baths Superintendent stationed there.

Mum was one of eight children born to George and Jeannie Maguire, both from Irish immigrant families. She was fiercely proud of her siblings, her parents and being a Govanite! Despite growing up in Govan, (you might know where we’re going with this…) Mum loved Celtic, and matchdays were a family occasion embraced by her large family. It was a tradition that would continue throughout our lives, but more of that later..

Growing up, Mum was a badminton champion, a proficient swimmer, and a qualified lifeguard – living in a swimming pool obviously had its advantages! Later, she would further showcase her sporting talent as an indoor and outdoor bowling champion.  Mum was also an accomplished pianist, although we never got to hear her play as she stopped playing after the death of her father. 

When Mum was eighteen, her eyes locked with something special across the crowded dance floor of the F & F ballroom in Partick. This was the first time Mum had seen Dad, but it was his pioneer pin that first caught her attention. Knowing that she was potentially looking at a good man, she raised her eyes and that was that. He was the perfect match. 71 years later, Mum was still hand in hand with the man who stole her heart. To be able to stay in Scotland to be with our Mum, Dad had to sign up for National Service. He was posted to Germany and Mum went out to visit him for a week and stayed for six. She said it was one of the most special times of her life. 

Thankfully they came home, or the rest of our story would be very different… Mum and Dad married in this chapel, on the 2nd of October, 1954.

Mum’s family embraced Dad, an Irishman far from home, and as a Celtic fan he became an integral part of the tradition of walking to Celtic Park on matchdays. Sadly, Mum lost both her parents when she was very young, her mother first, and then her father just days before our sister, Gina, Mum’s first of five children, was born. It must have been an incredibly tough time, but Mum put her heart and soul into making sure that we had strong relationships with our paternal grandparents, packing the seven of us into the car, with a huge hamper for our clothes, on every school holiday to go to Dad’s home in Rathlin.

Mum grew to love Rathlin passionately, and unsurprisingly, she was adored by Dad’s family. She wrote to Granny regularly to ensure she kept in touch with our lives in between visits. Just a few months ago, Mum travelled to Rathlin for what we now know was for the final time. It was joyful to watch her and Dad reminisce about their happy times there. On that visit, Mum’s memories were lucid and vibrant, despite the dementia that had been so cruelly robbing her of much of her past.  Mum will, however, always be remembered by the island’s community.

Speaking of happy times, Mum embraced those. When we were growing up, our house was always a social hub for visitors and parties. In a sympathy card, one of our cousins wrote that Mum was zany, and always up for fun in a lovely rebellious way. 

Others have spoken of her hearty laugh and mischievous ways. As children, we will always remember Mum’s party piece. Shirley Bassey never witnessed Mum’s regular rendition of Hey Big Spender for herself, but perhaps that was for the best…  

Speaking of that adventurous spirit, as a family, Mum and Dad regularly took us to see Celtic. Amidst the clambering over turnstiles and macaroon bars there was one other constant….Mum and her wee quarter bottle of voddie and her no holds barred, very loud opinions, about what was happening on the pitch.  

Mum was also an animal lover and growing up we had a dog called Bonnie who she treated like one of the family. And woe betide anyone who got in the way of her Irish Terrier, Rusty. He had a bit of a temper, as many of our children will testify to…. but there wasn’t a bad word to be said about that dog. You would be on the losing side if you even dared, and I’m sure the neighbour who complained about his barking is still reeling from Mum’s retaliatory comments after all these years!

Mum worked for many years at the co-op funeral undertakers. As you’ll know, many of us bring our work home at the end of the day, but no-one has ever managed this in quite the same way as our Mum. We will never forget the day we stood in the garden in absolute awe and watched Mum arrive home in the back of a hearse. Even for us, the children of Hey Big Spender, seeing Mum carried into the house on top of a coffin lid was an utterly bizarre experience. But that was our Mum. Things were never ordinary… and sometimes they were quite extraordinary! We should explain that she had hurt her back, but only Mum knew how to do that with such drama! 

What a force of life she is. 

Was. 

In the early hours of the 19th November, Dad woke up, sure that he could feel Mum by his side in bed. We know now that she was saying goodbye. 

At 5:10am, the clock in Mum’s hospital room literally stopped, and consequently, as WH Auden said, the mourners have come. 

Mum used to say to us that a bath cured any illness but, sadly, the well has run dry. 

It’s very difficult to comprehend that we won’t see her again; that we’ve heard her final words, saw her last smile and listened to her last throaty laugh. 

We can’t explain how much we will miss her.  It feels impossible to imagine anything ever filling the gaping hole she has left in our lives. As adults, with children and grandchildren ourselves, we feel incredibly lucky that we got to spend so much time with Mum, but maybe that’s why this loss is so hard. An ever present, monumental figure in our lives is no more.  

We also appreciate how hard this is for the 12 grandchildren and 14 great grandchildren who all loved Mum dearly. We hope they find comfort in knowing that Mum loved and adored them too, and we will ensure that the two great grandchildren, due to arrive soon, know and love her as much as the others do. 

In our collective grief, we pause only to think of Dad and the devastating impact Mum’s loss has had on him. He has been separated from the love of his life, his soul mate of 71 years. 

Dad cared for Mum with such tenderness in these last few years and we will always be grateful to him for making her feel so loved throughout her life; but especially when illness made day to day living so challenging for her. 

Please, in your memories of Mum, always thinks of Dad too, and pray that he finds comfort in his love for her, and from the impenetrable love she returned to him. 

We grew up hearing the story that Our Lady appeared at Granny’s bedside during Mum’s birth. At the time, Granny didn’t understand why the visitation had happened. However, shortly after, our Mum’s older brother Frances, who was just three years old, unexpectedly died. The family thereafter believed that the apparition was a sign that Mum would fill Granny’s heart at a time of deep sadness. 

She certainly filled ours and for that we will be forever grateful. 

For now, we pray that Granny, and the Blessed Virgin Mary, are holding Mum in their arms, caring for her with tenderness and love, until we meet again.

Margaret (Maguire) McCuaig, 1934-2023

There’s so much more to say about Mum, but for now..

Only tonight
I am happy and sad
like a child
who stood at the end of summer
and dipped a net
in a green, erotic pond. The day
and ever. The day and ever.
I am homesick, free, in love
with the way my mother speaks.