14 - You never miss your water till you’re dry (Bridget's grand-niece)

Bernadette Moulder
Sep 13, 2024
2 min read

Updated: Sep 20, 2024

An older couple walking together on a pathway near a waterfront. The man on the left is carrying a green backpack and holding a beige handbag, while the woman on the right is wearing a black jacket. They are walking closely, highlighting a sense of companionship and support. — My mother and father walk together towards the Brisbane River. My father carries my mother's handbag. [1]

366 days and some 8 hours ago, I heard the most heart-rending sound.

My mother, Mary, gave a kind of hiccoughing, half-cry, half-scream. She saw my father lying in his ICU bed. Then, she broke down and wept.

Seeing my father, John, so unnaturally still and with a machine breathing for him, had terrified me to the marrow of my bones. But, it was my mother’s keening lament that was the earth-shattering moment for me.

My mum, the stoic one, she of the “whoops-you-mean-I-broke-my-ribs-three-weeks-ago-and-that’s-why-I’m-sore”, was sobbing. I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never felt so useless in my life.

For both my sake and Mum’s, I’m glad there was someone else there with a deal more nous. And experience.

The ICU nurse, Grace, took Mum’s arm and said, “He’s breathing, Mary. Look. See? He’s breathing.

"You’re alive, aren’t you, John?”

“Hold his hand, Mary.”

She did. And kept crying.

A black-and-white photo from the 1970s showing a bride and groom on their wedding day. The groom, in a dark suit and bow tie, and the bride, in a long-sleeved white dress with a lace headpiece, are cutting their wedding cake together. The couple looks directly at the camera, capturing a classic wedding moment. — 1970s wedding day: Mum and Dad cutting their cake. [2]

If Mum is the heart of our family, then Dad is its spine. Dad is the stable, solid presence who, in spite of the occasional, annoying verbal barb, has sheltered my mother, my siblings and I for decades.

The absence of that unyielding strength, even temporarily, was world changing. My mother needed people around her who were calm, strong and decisive. For once, my dad wasn’t free to do it. I had to be one of them.

I didn’t like it. I wanted my dad back to be the strong one.

A vintage photo from the 1980s showing a mother and her three children snuggled under pink and green blankets in bed, with only their faces visible. The photo is taken by the father, who is not in the picture but is behind the camera, capturing this close-knit family moment." — 1980s snapshot: Dad behind the camera capturing Mum and the kids tucked in together. [3}

When my mother cried out upon seeing my father in ICU, it was the second time I’d heard that sound. A score (or so) years ago, I heard that cry in the middle of the night. It had sent me rushing to my mother’s room.

“Go back to bed, Bernadette,” Mum had said, while she stroked my aunt’s back.

“Your aunt just needs a moment.”

Cecilia, my grandmother, had died hours before and that dreadful, haunting sound had issued forth from my aunt’s mouth when she’d awoken to remember her mother was dead.

I wonder – is the sound heritable?

Was it the same involuntary keening that wracked Hanorah, Bridget’s mother, as she saw her daughter lying so still, with the marks of Henry’s violence writ across her face?

I hope not. It’s a dreadful sound. That sound needs to not be a thing that carries through the generations. It’s the sound of a heart breaking.

It’s been one year and my dad is back to his indomitable self. My O’Callaghan family were not so fortunate.

#WildBridgie

End notes

[1] Moulder, Bernadette. Mum and Dad. 2022.

[2] Moulder, Bernadette. Parents' Wedding, 1970s. 1970s.

[3] Moulder, Bernadette. Family in Bed, 1980s. Photograph by John Moulder, 1980s.