A Mother's Tribute to a Mother

Glennis May Lyle: 24 May 1938 - 10 October 1993

I don't know whether I am as obssessed with crafts and sewing as I am due to my family background, and in particular due to my mothers influence, or whether thats just the way my brain works. I can remember my mom always busy with her hands, sewing, embroidering, knitting, painting, screen-printing, wood-carving, beading...she was a jack of all trades and never with idle hands.

When I was 5, she taught me to embroider, I remember a pencil drawn house on a piece of calico, which she encouraged me to outline with back stitch. When I was 6 I was knitting coat hanger covers. When I was 11, I was making my own clothes, and she taught me to crochet. When I was 13, I taught her to cross-stitch. In high school I made knickers for my friends, and beaded necklaces.

We had a large studio room on the ground floor of our house, accessible by stairs outside. She used to teach morning classes - everything and anything ito hand stitching- ribbon embroidery, embroidery, candle-wicking, and painting - as well as printing. She also had two evening classes a week. I used to love seeing what everyone was doing, and I was immensely proud of my clever mother. She kept our family afloat with the income from the classes, but more than that it fed her need for creativity, which I understand only too well. She was generous of spirit, and loved passing on her ideas, and talent.

My friends always got a handmade gift - painted T-shirts, dolls clothes, pictures....

When I was 7, she was diagnosed with cancer. And given less than a year to live. My younger brother was 5, my older brothers 17 and 15. She was 43 years old. Refusing to give in, she got a second opinion and was given a slightly longer time estimate, I can't remember how long. But for 10 years she bravely fought leukemia, on a drug trial of tablets rather than the more aggressive radioactive therapy. She was determined to see her younger two children finish school.

In her final year, my first year studying, she had several blood transfusions, but I think she knew that her body was shutting down. I so admire her strength, she never ever complained or said Why Me? She accepted and lived to her fullest. A week before she died, she was admitted, and refused the wheelchair offered. She was going to walk in. The last thing she told me was had she known what drugs they were going to drip into her, and how awful she would feel, she would have jumped into the harbour. That was the first time I heard her admit defeat.

On her final night, she had already lapsed into a coma, but I know she could hear me pleading for her not to leave us. I was selfish. A selfish teenager who couldn't imagine life without this beautiful mother of mine. A tear rolled down her face.

True to her generous self, she waited for me to leave the room before taking her last breathe and passing over to another place. She is not lost to us. She is always with us, clearing the way of boulders.

If I am even half the person she was, then I am satisfied.

To my angel, I love you forever, I think of you always, and everything I create is a tribute to you.

xoxoxoxoox