Not Being a Victim

She made a decision which would alter the course of her life from that point. She saw how easy it would be to spiral into anger and bitterness. She rejected this path.

It was my Mum's funeral a few days ago. But please don't be sad. She was ninety-nine, had lived a great life and died peacefully while I was at her side. She had always insisted that she didn't want to live to a hundred and slipped away with only a few months to go. We gave her a fine send-off, celebrating her adventurous life with warmth and style. 

As I've been reflecting on her life, a key theme has emerged: when life hit her hard, she refused to be a victim.

Born in 1925, Gwen's childhood spanned the hungry thirties. Her father lost his job and left home looking for work when she was eleven. She never saw him again. In those days, it was tough for women without a man to provide - her oldest sister had to work as a servant. Her mother and sisters were angry. But Gwen told me that when she saw the bitterness in the household, she decided she would not join in.

Her teenage wartime years in London were both boring and dangerous. Her mother wished for her to stay home rather than joining the evacuation of children. So, her schooling ended at age thirteen. She saw the docklands ablaze across the horizon and at one point was almost hit by shrapnel. She knew what it was to feel lucky to be alive.

But there was a silver lining. At sixteen, she discovered the Linguist Club and her talent for languages. She began with French, later adding Spanish and Italian. Here, she met servicemen, free French sailors and refugees from across Europe. She said she was a kind of mascot for these men, they spoiled her - and she loved it! After the war, a move to Paris was natural. Here she forged her career as an interpreter. She developed a love of Spanish culture and trained to be a flamenco dancer. This was how she met our dad back in London, a lively Scotsman who shared her passion for Spanish dance. Together they ran a popular Spanish-themed café in Hampstead.

Fast forward three decades. She'd completed her education and became a teacher while raising three children. But then, everything fell apart. I was the youngest and the last to leave home. As I prepared to move to Brighton, her marriage broke up. All at once, she lost her family life, her home, husband and her teaching career. It was devastating for her. She was living in a bed-sit in Brighton, alone, while my father was with a much younger girlfriend. To say this hurt is to understate. But once again she made a decision - one which would alter the course of her life from that point. She saw how easy it would be to spiral into anger and bitterness. Once again, she rejected this path. To help her find a degree of equanimity, she sought out yoga and meditation classes. I was also affected by the breakup and, at her suggestion, yoga and meditation also became part of my life - thanks mum!

Gwen thrived in the second half of her life. She found a devoted partner and together they enjoyed travel and cultural pursuits. She knew how to relax and have fun. She developed her career as an interpreter and tour guide. She became an ordained Buddhist in her seventies. Her Buddhist name is Amodana, meaning rejoicing. And rejoice she did. She would often repeat the words 'I'm so lucky!'. She taught a regular meditation class and had her own following.

Even in old age, when she had lost her independence, she was still able to appreciate those around her. I saw one of her carers moved to tears when Gwen - now Amodana - expressed heartfelt appreciation to her. Her carer responded, 'nobody ever says anything like that to me'.

She set a great example in so many ways; her capacity to keep the initiative, to refuse to be a victim. And not only at the big junctures in life, but in a thousand small ways, day to day. The ability to hold a wider perspective, especially when things are not to one's liking.

In her last years, dementia swept away so much of who she once was. But even then, she showed a quiet acceptance and seemed, for the most part, at peace. Her years of meditation seemed to shine through.

Now she's gone and I'm moving forward without her. Amongst an array of emotions, something akin to a bubbling excitement is arising. As if I have taken on a baton to carry forward. If, in my own way, I can find something of her capability, courage and down-to-earth kindness, I'll be happy.

Photo: Gwen Amodana McAuley, aged 97