DEAR MUM: stories of love, loss and hope

In poignant letters to their mums from a new book compiled by actor Samuel Johnson, Amanda Keller and Rebecca Gibney pour out their hearts.

There are still times when I go to call you. It seems inexplicable to me that you actually died. I used to wonder how it would feel, and after 16 years, I’m still not sure. The main thing I want to tell you is that I get it now. I understand that all those times I thought you were smothering or controlling were all just manifestations of love. And I hope my boys will one day understand the same of me. Liam left home at the beginning of the year to begin his university life, and I fell to pieces. I was right back to being 17 and leaving home for uni myself. Had I even given you and Dad a backward glance? Had I an iota of insight into how you were feeling as I left my childhood behind? Did you find it hard to let me go? I missed you terribly as I cried over Liam’s departure. And the clothes you made me to take away? I was embarrassed by the Butterick patterns and homemade jumpers. I wanted to shop at the army disposal store. I felt you didn’t ‘see’ me. But I now know that love is a doing word, and every trip to the fabric department of Myer was an act of love. Jack was so young when you died. You would have laughed at the boys at your ‘ceremony’. (I know you didn’t want a funeral.) Liam dragged Jack around the floor by his arms. A nice diversion on the hardest of days. When Jack was five he said, ‘I wish I knew Grandma when I had a brain.’ Me too. You’d just love these boys … actually they are now fine young men. And I tell them often how proud you’d be of their achievements. I find it hard to talk about you without getting weepy (I’m crying writing this). I get a kick to the heart if I see your handwriting, and despite the fact you didn’t like having your photo taken I have your pictures all over the house. Most importantly I want you to know that your determination for me to have an education and pursue a career has afforded me a wonderful and challenging life, and I hope I do you credit. And I miss you every day. (Sorry to begin a sentence with ‘and’.)

Amanda Keller OAM: award-winning journalist and the hostess with the mostest; Jonesy & Amanda, Dancing with the Stars, The Living Room. Amanda appears daily, in wax, at Madame Tussauds in Sydney.

When Samuel asked if I wanted to write a letter to my mother to be published in a book, I wondered what I could say to you that I haven’t already said in person. Are there things I need you to know before it’s too late? I’m not saying that in a fatalistic, end of the world kind of way but more because the last few years have really shown that we don’t know what is around the corner and it’s vital that we share our thoughts/love/stories/regrets/ forgiveness before it’s too late and we are gone. I would hate to leave this earth with people not knowing I loved them and that if they had done anything to hurt me that I also forgive them as I hope I will be forgiven for the damage I have done to others. I truly believe that it is by holding on to the pain of the past we can never fully grow to be the people we were born to be, and it’s you who taught me that. Forgiveness was something I struggled with in my early life, particularly my teens and 20s. Not the everyday ‘whoops sorry I broke that glass/told a white lie/said you were fat/called you really mean things’ kind of forgiveness. Somehow those stuff-ups were the easiest to forgive. We did it all the time. As a family we witnessed the abuse and the ‘I’m sorry’ and the ‘don’t worry about it, let’s just move on’ on a daily basis. In a way it made it easy for us to forgive others for mild slights, even biggish ones. Holding a grudge was never really in my psyche. Except for Grandad. That was a biggie. How do you forgive someone who has done so much damage to not only you but to the people closest to you? The person closest to you. Your mother. But I needed to only look at you to see how it was done. How you continuously forgave Grandad and then Dad for the countless hours, days, weeks, months and years of suffering they both inflicted on you. I’m not going to go into the morbid details. A Google search will sort that out for anyone who wants to know, but what I will say is that it is because of you and your ability to always see the good in others that I am the person I am today. Your capacity to leave behind the painful wounds of the past and to look to a future with positivity and optimism has been the greatest gift you could give me. I am the glass-half-full kind of girl. I do believe life will get better. Sometimes you get lemons but you make lemonade. And when the days come that are bad and you feel like shit then you have a damn good howl, let it all out and know that there is a way out. Even when you feel like you are in a pit as I did. And you know it was a deep one. But through it all there was always two words that kept coming back to me. Two words that saved my life.

Surrender and faith.

Surrender your pain, your fear, your guilt and your shame. Surrender to the small, still voice inside that is listening and that will forgive you and love you and nurse you back from the brink. Let it out and let it go. You are loved and you are safe. And faith. Faith that there IS a greater good. That we are being cared for by a power, source, energy far greater than we can ever fathom. Some call that God or a higher power. Some believe it’s our inner wisdom or our instinct. I know what it means to me and that’s all that matters. That feeling has always been with me because you gave it to me, Mum. You always made me feel loved no matter what. Cherished no matter what. Forgiven no matter what. I believe in God’s love because you showed it to me first. Surrender, forgiveness, faith and love. Lessons from my mum, Shirley. I love the fact that I have been given the opportunity to let other people know a little more about you, and maybe someone will read something in these words and that will help them overcome something in their life because you are the reason I overcame some of the biggest tests in mine. I know I say it to you at the end of every telephone call Mum, but I hope that this letter will simply reinforce how very loved you are. How cherished you are. How blessed I am to have been able to call you my mother. The best human I know. The best parent. The only one I ever needed. Thank you will never be enough …

Rebecca Gibney: multi-Logie and AFI Award-winning actor (Halifax f.p., Packed to the Rafters). This is an extract from Dear Mum edited by Samuel Johnson. Published by Hachette Australia. Every sale contributes to cancer research through Love Your Sister.