Her Mother's Voice

                                                      Her Mother’s Voice

Every Christmas I have the problem of how to sign my cards, as I try to remember by which name each close friend or family member knows me.  I sign the majority of the cards using my full first name, Kathleen, but that is too formal for those who address me as Kath, Kathy, Katie, Kate or Ka.  My late husband, Bob, decided when we began our courtship to call me Kath (after the heroine of a favourite novel, I think!)

This photo is one of a very few taken of me as a child.  Because they had paid a photographer to take it – and tint it! – I expect that my parents referred to it as “the photograph of Kathleen”, using my full name in honour of the occasion!  However, as far back as I can remember, my parents called me “Ka” – except when occasionally my mother would snap, “Kathleen, come here!” and I knew that I was in trouble!

My maternal grandmother’s name was Catherine.  Her second daughter was baptised Katherine but was known as Kath - or “Katie” by siblings wishing to tease her!  Three of her granddaughters were given names derived from hers, with slight variants:  Fiona Catherine, Catriona (Gaelic) and Kathleen (Irish). 

 Catherine had nine children, all born in Glasgow. When two of the boys grew up they went south to England in search of work.  In due course they settled there, married and established families.  All eight of my English cousins refer to me as Kathleen or Kath, whereas those who, like me, were brought up in Glasgow call me Ka, having heard my parents use their pet name for me.

I have two outstanding memories concerning the name Ka.

The first is of a conversation I had several years ago with a lady I had just met at a conference in Edinburgh. Our chat turned to first names and their variants.  When I casually mentioned that my parents had usually addressed me as “Ka” her jaw dropped in amazement.

“Ka?” she exclaimed.  “Ka!” she repeated, almost reverently.

It turned out that she was a university lecturer in Egyptology.  I had no idea why this name appeared to have had such importance in ancient Egypt.  Although I have a vague knowledge of the Pharaohs, I have never studied that ancient culture.  But, on that occasion, amused by the lady’s reverential attitude, I decided that all I could do was adopt a benevolent expression and lower my eyes modestly!

Later, at home, I ‘googled’ the name and discovered that, in ancient Egypt, Ka was (to quote www.dictionary) ‘a spiritual entity, an aspect of the individual, believed to live within the body during life and to survive it after death’.

The second memory is of an incident which occurred a few years after my mother’s death at the age of 99.  For the last ten years of her life she had suffered from dementia and was in a care home.  Whenever my sister or I visited her we were greeted with a smile, but she had no idea who we were.  One Mother’s Day she laughed, pointing to the card my sister had sent her. 

“Look at that card!” she exclaimed.  “It says ‘Mother’ on it.  I’m not a mother!”

Poor Freda’s face fell. She lives in Manchester and had always looked forward to her trips to Scotland to visit Mum, with whom she had a close relationship.  We were both sad that she no longer remembered our happy years together and also that, having no recollection of being married, she had forgotten our dear Dad.  However, we just had to accept the situation and do our best to keep her happy.

Here we are, helping to celebrate her 99^th birthday.

 (By the way, the plant which seems to be growing out of my head was actually in the garden outside!)

 It helped me to remember what an elderly lady had once said to me about her husband who had Alzheimer’s: “I just think that at present his personality is in abeyance”.  She was sure that they would be happily reunited once they had both passed on.

Several years after our mother’s death, I experienced a wonderful moment of consolation.  As I sat up in bed one morning, still in the state between sleeping and waking, I ‘heard’ a man’s voice, strong and emphatic, like that of a radio presenter. 

“Mother’s voice” he announced.

And then, to my astonished delight, I did hear my mother speak.  “Ka”, she said.

“Ka!”  Just one word, one syllable, only two letters – but what joy it brought me!  To hear her unmistakable voice pronounce my pet name once more was in itself a huge comfort.  But even more profound was the realisation that not only had she survived physical death (she who had always refused to think of that possibility!) but that her dear personality had been restored.  Her dementia had been only temporary! 

What a comfort.  What a blessing, for which I thank God with all my heart.

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