[About this story: We were prepared for retirement, planning to move from the Hunter Valley to settle in the semi-arid north-west of NSW, when we made a sudden change of plans. A two-minute read]
Sister Cottage just happened out of the blue, a combination of love, trust and vision.
Sister Cottage just happened out of the blue, a combination of love, trust and vision.
As my sister and I tended to our ageing and ailing parents, we redeveloped our relationship that had flagged somewhat over the years for no particular reason. Our bond to each other instantaneously deepened and became firm.
Mum lay dying, barely recognisable but for her beautiful silver hair, thick and healthy, framing her gaunt face. Her needs were tended to by dedicated palliative-care staff. Fresh nightwear daily, her body always clean and fresh, her skin massaged with moisturiser, fingernails clipped. She was cared for as if she was merely out of sorts for a short time, not unconscious and dying. It was such a comfort to see that our mother, a humble little old pensioner who had lost her sensibilities due to the cruelty of dementia, and who was so dear to us, was being treated like royalty as her body gave up life.
Her favourite music played softly in her room, the curtains partly drawn for some light and fresh air, tea and coffee-making facilities in the room in readiness for her loved ones. Whatever time of day or night my sister and I visited our dear mother, her hair was freshly brushed and her teddy tucked under her arm.
Mum was a feisty lady, and didn't give up easily. My sister and I said our heartbreaking final goodbyes twice a day for a whole week, till she finally slipped away. Our husbands were there every night to comfort us. Then we buried her with Dad, who we had buried only a few months prior.
My sister and I had been through so much together, sharing the burden, comforting and encouraging each other, working and relaxing together, crying and laughing together. We were both sad to go our separate ways.
Mum lay dying, barely recognisable but for her beautiful silver hair, thick and healthy, framing her gaunt face. Her needs were tended to by dedicated palliative-care staff. Fresh nightwear daily, her body always clean and fresh, her skin massaged with moisturiser, fingernails clipped. She was cared for as if she was merely out of sorts for a short time, not unconscious and dying. It was such a comfort to see that our mother, a humble little old pensioner who had lost her sensibilities due to the cruelty of dementia, and who was so dear to us, was being treated like royalty as her body gave up life.
Her favourite music played softly in her room, the curtains partly drawn for some light and fresh air, tea and coffee-making facilities in the room in readiness for her loved ones. Whatever time of day or night my sister and I visited our dear mother, her hair was freshly brushed and her teddy tucked under her arm.
Mum was a feisty lady, and didn't give up easily. My sister and I said our heartbreaking final goodbyes twice a day for a whole week, till she finally slipped away. Our husbands were there every night to comfort us. Then we buried her with Dad, who we had buried only a few months prior.
My sister and I had been through so much together, sharing the burden, comforting and encouraging each other, working and relaxing together, crying and laughing together. We were both sad to go our separate ways.
Three years previously, my husband and I had purchased a house in a little town in north-western New South Wales where we planned to retire, leaving the Hunter Valley where we had lived most of our married life. We renovated the house and established a garden, integrated into the welcoming community, established interests, and were excited about moving there upon retirement in a few years time. The surrounding bush called to us to satisfy our desire to be amongst nature.
But sentiments changed after my parents died; I wanted to live my golden years near my sister, to continue to be an everyday part of her life. After considerable thought, I put the idea to my husband, and he warmed to it immediately. I mentioned our tentative plans to my sister and her husband, and they were over-joyed. They offered to help us get organised any way that they could.
Little did I know, however, just what extent they were happily prepared to go to also have that close-at-hand relationship. She and her husband offered to allow us to build a home in their backyard (a 9-acre rural property in south-east Queensland). The four of us discussed pros and cons of the proposal, and we accepted their generous offer.
From there, preparations for the establishment of Sister Cottage and our life of shared occupation began, with genuine and lasting excitement brimming from all.
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| The construction on our little house began late December 2014 |
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