Remembering Lynette Bruce

My mother, the light that was Lynette ‘Euline’ Bruce who went out on November 5, 2021, was a gem.

She had a happy but difficult childhood but was not one to complain about her circumstances, present or past. She was not perfect, but she was obsessed with avoiding mediocrity. She always gave her best, sometimes to her detriment; but her example made us, her children, want to do our best as well.

Coming from humble beginnings, she developed an appreciation for the simple things. And though ambitious, she was quick to express gratitude and seldom took any blessing for granted. Loving and affectionate beyond measure, she drew people to her in the most inexplicable manner. Quick to hug, her embrace felt like a warm blanket where stress and sadness melted away. To say that her laughter was infectious would be a supreme understatement. It was that and then some. If I’m honest, raucous would be a more apt description. This is perhaps because it would often follow a ‘lil rude joke.’ Her intelligence meant that she had an amazing sense of humour, she would be the first person in the room to get that joke that went over the heads of many others. Many examples of this emerged during our weekly Sunday evening musical interludes, when we all, my grandmother included, played and listened to our favourite music on those old 45’s and LP’s. The children could not sing along to the double entendres when they were played, but we never quite knew why until well into our teens or early adulthood.

“Ms Euline” was that adult in whom most young persons comfortably confided, in the knowledge that they would not be met with judgment, reproach or betrayal. She listened like a paid therapist, and maintained confidentiality in like manner. She offered simple, solid advice, prayed and encouraged prayer, hugged, kissed and smiled reassuringly. Many secrets that she kept for my friends and the friends of my siblings only came to the fore after she died, when people shared their anecdotes with us while celebrating her life.

As a small laundry owner, she conducted herself pleasantly and professionally, with honesty and integrity. If there was bad news to be delivered to a customer, she was not one to shirk that responsibility. She’d start with an apology and state her case, try to make amends and find a way forward. Every time. without deliberately teaching us, she taught us. Her life was a sermon. She didn’t just read and speak the gospel, she lived it.

Her generosity was sometimes incomprehensible. Struggling to make ends meet from day to day was never a reason not to extend a helping hand to someone in need. I watched her shave off from the little that we had, to ensure that someone else did not go without or go hungry. This included friends and relatives, our siblings from my dad’s extra-marital and pre-marital relationships, as well as complete strangers. It didn’t matter.

During my early childhood, she was the one adult in the neighbourhood who could be found playing board games, card games, or cricket and rounders in the road with the kids. She was the one braiding hair, tending to cuts and bruises, and consulting with granny to prescribe the right bush for ailments. She genuinely loved people; and the fact that she had been hurt in life, somehow never changed that.

On the occasions when the stresses of life got to her, we could all find ourselves on the receiving end of a severe tongue-lashing. But I never once heard her use obscene language. The closest I recall hearing is that she would “take a turn in your skin” That’s it! That’s Lynette cussing you out.

I remember the 1970’s version of my mom. So tall and beautiful, with her variety of afro wigs and her mini dresses, her sultry smile, and that scent I suspect all mothers have and somehow never lose. But I also vividly recall the homemaker, preparing our family’s trademark pot-bake, made like only she and granny could at the time (thankfully, now I can as well). How she whipped up a buljol if the circumstances allowed, and if not, just good old hot bake and butter. I remember her stirring up a huge mug of fresh grapefruit juice, preparing that pot of Saturday soup that lasted like it was made in Sharlo’s calabash (Sam Selvon’s Sharlo’s Strange Bargain).

I am thankful to be able to pay tribute to a woman who was such an engaging human being, that whenever seen in the company of any of her four children (five, if you count my godson Kern who lived with us from six months old), people would assume that the child was her only one, or the spoilt one, or her favourite one. We were all her favourites. We were all her “spoil child.” She was our best friend.

Alzheimer’s stole a lot of who she was four to five years before she died, but certain aspects, the important aspects remained. To see her engage her grand-children and great-grandchildren was the most natural and effortless exercise. Her generous spirit remained to the end, as did her thoughtfulness, consideration and compassion. Even her departure from this realm was dignified and peaceful. It seemed that her mental faculties were restored in those last moments as she looked at my sister and called her by her name – something that she had not done for quite some time. She said she was tired and wanted to go to her mother, and asked to be allowed to go. When my sister agreed, she thanked her, blessed her and took her last few breaths.

Christmas Day, her birthday and Mother’s Day are extremely difficult for us, but we celebrate her life by making deliberate choices to draw from the positive elements of her life – her loving approach to parenting, being open and available to listen to our children at all times without judgment, and loving unconditionally.