As those of you who follow me on social media already read, my mother Honor passed away on Thursday in Toronto. It was sudden, but not unexpected. She battled cancer off and on for seventeen years. I am flying to Canada tomorrow, and won’t be back online and doing all the work I do here in Austria with Ukrainian refugees until next week at the earliest. I let my Telegram group know and they were so kind; my mom would never be able to imagine how many kind words of condolences and prayers she received in Ukrainian and Russian.
I am leaving my envelope pile and waiting list and just putting it on hold. When I receive texts now, I explain, please write me again after April 3. One more card will go out tomorrow morning (thank you).
It is totally surreal after more than a year of helping so many strangers through own personal crises to now be in the depth of one of my own. I am luckily not alone. I have an extremely competent younger sister and my mother’s cousin. So we are a trio and as a trio we will get through this. We had a Zoom call today. I love these corporate people. They operate in another world and I am so grateful for their speed and competence. I cannot describe what it feels like for someone like me, who is allergic to everything procedural, documentation, and paperwork, to have to go back to a country you last lived in when you were seven years old and figure out everything that has to be done when someone dies. It turns out dying is perhaps even more expensive than being born, and when no one made arrangements ahead of time, things get scary, and quickly. I had to buy a business class ticket just to be able to leave tomorrow. If my sister couldn’t loan me the funds, I don’t know what I would have done.
I don’t know how ordinary people do this. I keep thinking about the Ukrainians who texted me this year saying a close relative had died and they had to go home immediately, unexpectedly, to make arrangements. It is overwhelming. I take comfort from being by far the least qualified of our trio. I am taking over the emotional aspects. Inviting my mother’s two best friends to a lunch in a nice restaurant I took my mother to Christmas dinner in a few years ago, in lieu of a formal funeral. Insisting that we try and bury her this week, even if its just the three of us, so we can say our own goodbyes. Agonising over what to write in the obituary (incredulous and what a money-making operation newspaper obituaries must be — the prices are shocking). Do you include estranged relatives? Do you mention ex-husbands? I decided no and no. One estranged relative already let out her fury today. People always show their true colors in crisis. Always.
My mom and I were not close in a traditional mother-daughter way. For much of my childhood, I at times felt like our roles were reversed. She gave birth to a daughter who was too much like her now long ex-husband (good at math with a sharp tongue) and didn’t share many of her interests (hated summer camp in Ontario, antiques, and the royal family). When we were in communist Yugoslavia without my dad, who couldn’t go back at that time, and my mom got pulled over by the traffic police for driving my Deda’s old white Lada the wrong direction at night down the Belgrade-Zagreb motorway (yes, really), it was me who at the age of nine in the passenger seat had to count out the fine in stari and novi dinars while Honor simply smiled at the not amused Balkan police as if she was still in Canada and simply said “Ja sam kanadjanka”. I wished for a mother who was less WASPy, expressed more emotion, could give practical woman-to-woman advice and cook/bake. I wished for a Slavic mama. I found her, when I was 23, and moved to Moscow, but that is another story.
Nana, as we too had called Honor’s mother, was however an excellent grandmother. She loved all four of her grandchildren and always asked for photos and updates and supported their interests including financially when she could. My challenging middle daughter twice flew across the Atlantic all by herself to be hosted by Nana and attend Nana’s beloved all-girl summer camp in Algonquin Park. For three weeks, we missed her deeply, and K had the time of her life. She, like Nana, adored summer camp in the wilderness. She would wake up the counsellors at 7am even in the pouring cold Canadian rain and demand her pre-breakfast free swim in the lake with the snapper turtles. I shudder just thinking about it, but some good things skipped a generation. My children all inherited their grandmothers’ beautiful blue eyes. When she would visit us in Vienna, we would watch the latest season of The Crown on Netflix together. Honor knew every historical detail. She often wrote letters to the Queen over the years and received actual replies from some kind of royal secretaries on real fancy royal stationery whose only jobs must be writing letters back to all those royal fans from all over the former commonwealth. Honor outlived even the Queen, just by a bit.
So tomorrow I will get on a plane to the city of my birth and try to make arrangements and say goodbye. I know it will not be easy, but I am thankful not to be doing it alone.
I am not able to write more on other topics eloquently now because my mind is on all of this, and more.
Very briefly — a turning point I believe worth noting as it highlights the ever deteriorating political situation (now, rather rapidly) in Austria, for which there are no easy answers. One Ukrainian wrote tonight — if you do not like it, you can always go back to a village in western Ukraine, look for affordable housing, and live in your home country in relative safety. Being in Austria and putting up with such “rules” is also a choice, she reminded us all. Except the really poor folks with no homes to go back to often do not have choices when they don’t even have enough money for bus fare back to Ukraine. That too is a reality. Many also pointed out that individual Austrians and families have been beyond generous in helping Ukrainians; it is the institutional response where the screws are tightening, just like in prison, often the on the ground “enforcers” are those who do speak the language and are on power trips having been here for a decade instead of one year.
There was a fascinating article in Der Standard today about racism in the market for rental apartments. One Ukrainian in my group writes tonight “We spoke with a dozen real estate agents and private landlords who are renting out apartments. We were always immediately rejected as soon as they learned we are Ukrainian. At first they say yes everything is ok, then as soon as they learn our nationality, they say really sorry but the place isn’t available. And everywhere they ask for proof of employment and a salary of €1,500 or more. So everyone has their own story in Austria. This was ours so far.”
A few articles from Ukraine you really must read which stood out to me in the blur of the past few days. The reporters from The Kyiv Independent have been doing phenomenal work:
Thank you all. I’ll be back soon.
Tanja, it's so like you to see the light in everyone (she was an "excellent grandmother" and they inherited her "beautiful blue eyes"), even when that light isn't shared with you. My deepest sympathies in the loss of your mother; I too lost a mom who wouldn't (or couldn't) share her light with me. You'll be in my thoughts and prayers as you make this journey.
Tanja, may her memory be eternal. Thanks for sharing a small slice of your experiences with us. Please let me know if there is a way in which I can pay my respects and help celebrate her life.