In the last breath of the summer I want to share a story about February 2023. I have recently returned my annual well deserved trip home for the summer break.
In all honesty I was suppose to press the “publish” button days before I travel, but work got in a way. The second attempt was on the last week on the day when I was with my mum, helping her work (distracting her really), but this one cannot be rushed to be publish, so I carried away being on holiday until I have settled back into my life routine back in the UK.
Over the years whenever I go to Latvia, camera is with me and I capture the outings, the weird and wonderful and I always call them HOME GLORY. I used to consider that as a body of work that trails my practice in a way that I can’t do here. Also over the years I have focused less on taking it on as a job and I produced less photos, less touristy stuff and for the funny personal quick fixes I use my phone.
It essentially gives me more freedom to produce less, but more meaningful images, filtering through moments when camera is a work tool and when I do it for the pure beauty for the moment. For more casual and less intrusive presence I trust my phone photography techniques and most of the time it don’t disappoint.
So this whole story contains phone photographs only.
This story isn’t about the sad reason of why I flew home suddenly in February, this story isn’t really about my END OF LIFE SERIES continuance, this story isn’t my typical blog content, but its a good story.
This story is about three blood-related women sharing a grieving period and trying to find the best way how to work through it. Me, my mother and my sister.
My grandma passed away quite suddenly in February 2023 and I of course packed my suitcase, paused my life here and went home. My grandma was steadily coping with age related problems, bed bound, but always had good spirit. Things turned bad quite quickly. My mothers mother she was, the last grandparent in my family, the last sane relative (you will see why if you continue reading and no hard feelings, we try and have a sense of humour about it) from my mothers side, so it was not just ones passing, it was also an end to a generation.
The difference between my granddads passing and this was that I arrived after it happened, so the initial wave of shock and sudden loss transitioned into next stage: funeral was planned and arranged, all the dreadful admin was done and grandmas favourite dress was drycleaned. I thank my sister for being for holding my mums hand through this.
When I arrived, we had to order pastries and nibbles, coffee and wine for the wake, and the rest of the time was for us to be with and for each other.
Due to short notice I had to pick a flight that was not the most convenient. I flew to Vilnius. Never not flown directly to Riga and I thought that it will be a dreadful hassle, but luckily my sister loves a good road trip and so her and my mum came to pick me up.
At my arrival I was greeted with nippy cold weather and layer of snow: both things I miss living in the UK, so I wasn’t complaining too much. However my mum every five minutes complained how bad the winter is, the roads are awful and wished the cold would stop biting her nose.
In one of the towns we stopped for a coffee and we seized the opportunity to visit famous Lithuanian thrift shops. My mum is not a big fan of being part of the haul, she likes to receive the goods instead, but she joined that day and almost bought a leather handbag (turned out to be fake).
The thrift shops in Lithuania are full of funny brand knockoffs and interesting fashion pieces and in the past we have been asked to leave because we cannot hide our amusement and cry from laughter. This time the same : hilarious pieces and nearly kicked out.
Here are some of the best ones:
and this fashion icon:
Don’t get me wrong, if you look and have the patience to ramage, you can find some real gold pieces, brand designs, so I love thrift shopping, but sometimes clothes and other things found drives me and my sister hysterical.
On the way back we slagged off insane Lithuanian drivers and watched the Soviet Architecture in snowy grey cities.
My mum: ” Anet, on the way here we saw pussywillow branches on the side of the highway”
Me: “shall we stop and steal some?”
My mum: “yeah sure”
We did, we giggled and took them home.
The next story is about my auntie. My auntie for many decades have been a fruitloop and I have never been a big fan of her for million reasons, I used to visit her because she lived with my grandma, so I always patiently “sucked up” her nonsense. Due the family loss and the fact that her closest person passed away, I wanted to see her and wish my condolences. And not very surprisingly she made herself the biggest victim and the whole visit (and others that came in that week) was ALL ABOUT HER. I don’t want to write paragraphs about every single time when she was an asshole, and those times when she was treating her family, mother, father, sister like sh*t, but she’s always been the weird, selfish, narcissistic and nonsense auntie that we cannot bare without wanting to slash our skulls open. By us I mean my mum, sister and me. My grandparents of course had less choice or choice to ignore it, because she was the “you poor thing” kind of character. My auntie lived all her adult life with my grandparents, worked probably a whole year in her lifetime (she is 67 now), never brought any actual use to the household and never had a boyfriend. She is a typical spinster with a cat, no life and no hobbies, everyone is stupid, useless and she is the victim of the injustice. In her opinion mother is a failure, I am the run-away and my sister is the grumpy cat, but probably most favourite of us all.
All her cats that she had were not very well looked after and all were called Rudis (bad luck to name new cat with an old cats name, especially when the death was tragic). Auntie never allow cats to be selfish independent ferrels and vet doctors are mythical creatures, so whenever we visit, we just feel sorry for Rudis (all of them)
When my grandma got poorly my auntie had to step up her game, finally give back what she has taken, be useful, be more grateful. Unfortunately it wasn’t quite the case and it was a tough time for the family. My mum wanted to get a carer, but my grandma refused to let a stranger into the house, so she managed a lot of things herself. We felt really sad that our auntie not being employed and having all this time is incapable to unconditionally do the housework, look after grandma, cook healthy meals. We were angry actually. Things our auntie did, we heard about them all the time and how hard it is – that too we heard so many times. Her life was so easy, she didn’t know what hardship was, and in this moment of need it was hard for her? My mum works insane hours, my sister works two jobs and has quite a few life things, and a house to maintain, so the support they could give was offered, but it was never good enough.
We knew that grandma isn’t in a spa retreat in that house, but she stubbornly stayed and tried to be joyful/carry on. It must have been so lonely for her, not having her husband, love of her life there, seeing one window every day and be with my auntie.
The house was not very tidy: we had some fridge nightmares, layers of cobwebs and dinner invites were hygienically unsafe. we laughed, but really we should’ve cried.
That one last time I visited the house, I had a good look around and it was sad. It was sad that I will never see grandmas smile in there and it was sad that I don’t wanna be there anymore while my auntie habits the house.
On a happy note, when we went first time round, to see the empty bed and her book unread, her hair brush and sweeties she used to like, it was overwhelmingly sad. We sat down for a chat with coffee and talked about grandma. The day was grey and snowy, but at that very moment sun came out, and I bloody well knew it was grandma smiling at us. Unforgettable last memory of grandmothers presence for me.
Usually when I am home I spend most of my time at my childhood home. My sister is taken over the household and the house is so warm and cosy, mixture of old and new memories. It felt appropriate to change the scenery and be with my mum, so I stayed at my mums place. She has her own little sanctuary flat in city for herself, it is tiny and oversees the urban landscape of Jelgava. We have had a great New Years Eve one year overlooking the cities fireworks.
I of course prefer my childhood home in the countryside, I have enough of city living back here in the UK, but this time I really wanted to be there.
I cooked tea, we did some baking (but I cannot remember what we baked), we had little games night with my sister and ordered pizza, we chatted, spend long evenings talking about grandma and sipping tea in her little kitchen. Again, despite the circumstances, it was the silver lining. I cannot remember the last time I spent a week with my mum. It was incredibly lovely.
The morning of the funeral was cold and crisp. It is never pleasant and you are never really prepared. There is a certain routine in the morning before such occasion: minimal make up (double think if you want mascara or not), black clothes that have been ironed twice, fluff remover linen roll, one coffee, but you crave two and the dreadful walk to the car. The whole process switches from sadness and grief, to actual morning/getting ready rush.
We separated the pack: ones picking up pastries, ones picking up flowers and then someone had to (flip a coin) pick up auntie.
We are fortunate to have a plot among gracious trees near the entrance and the little chapel is beautiful. I have always loved cemeteries, place of green and quiet, respect for nature and for all resting there. No one bothers you there, no one stares, mutual respect for surroundings and personal space. And a beautiful place where to celebrate ones last journey. It was sad and beautiful.
It was a beautiful service, we had a singer and her voice was angelic. We thought that our grandma would have approved.
As any funeral and saying goodbye for last time, holding ones hand who’s heart is broken is really hard. But it happens and there is nothing to be done. So we just stick together.
My mums best friend came and that really put a relief smile on our faces. She is a funny, blunt, “take no shit” strong character and we hugged in joy when we picked her up from the train station. She is like that one trusted person who will get you through any life difficulties, she will be there to help, advise or pull you by your collar and tell you to get your shit together, or just simply make you laugh and give you a hug.
We needed her there, our mum really needed her there. In fact the last time I saw her was at my grandads funeral, really puts in perspective how funerals can be sad and unwanted ceremonies, but they bring people back together.
After the funeral we had a small gathering with hot drinks and pastries to say those last things, remember the good, talk about grandmas life and shared forgotten memories. We were looking at photographs, remembering how her and grandad used to sit in a garden all dressed in their best summer clothes, just enjoying the shade in the apple yard always together. My auntie used to take photos quite a bit, and always noted the date. Comes handy for decades later when your own brain gone into mush and you forget things. We laughed too, as my grandma liked a story and a joke. . And that’s what the day of funeral is: you dread it, you live it, you cry and feel broken, but there comes a moment when you are able to remember their lives and smile about them. And then you find your new future without them and learn to accept and grieve.
The remaining days after the funeral was spent in various ways. The in-between of “their back to normal”, me lingering about (always feels like a holiday for everyone when I am home), full-on crisp and magical winter days and freezing winter nights, my dad being my usual bonkers self, my mum wanting to get her head back into work mode and ongoing joys being around my sister.
We went to the gym, we went on snowy walks and drives, we ate loads of Latvian pastries and goodies, we piled wood, we played with cat and shovelled a lot of snow.
It was purposeful week, every minute was spent meaningfully. Even the things we did after the funeral, we made sure it counts. I don’t want to say that grandmas passing bonded us, but this time the trio was really connected.
I have never stopped admiring how families work – they love you despite, my family are still with me, even after 14 years apart. My dad finds it the hardest, I get slack every so often for being a run-away and the question of when I am coming back with no return flight is asked a lot. But with no choice (the family contract) he still is glad to see me and loves me. My mum has grown closer to me in all the years I have been away and she is so supportive. Agnes, my sister is a whole other level of pure love and respect for each other, my life would not be the same without her. The way I have laughed with her is insane and she is the only person who will take me hundred percent how I am, no questions asked. Worth a million these things innit?
This is a very personal insight into my life that is parallel to who I am for most. It has been quite hard to write something that you think or know in your brain cells and heart, but never really wrote it out in actual words. This blog post has taken me a while, it had to feel right (and I am not quite sure it is, but it MUST BE FINISHED NOW), some chapters have been rewritten several times. The hard part was to stick to the story and not to start telling you all the “beef” that happens on all my visits with all parties involved back home.
When I say I go on holiday to Latvia, rarely it actually is a typical get-away. It is a bag full of adventures, being home, some damn good food tales, roady trips, seeing old faces, small attempts to get the feel for “do I live here”, being a Latvian and of course being me as I am here in the UK.
In August we went to see some Agneses close fiends and walked their dog on a hot summer night. They openly said that we are both a bit crazy and that my sister is the most adult out of both of us. My justification for this “accusation” is simple: when I am in Latvia on holiday, I have no job, no adult responsibilities, no set mealtimes, no reasonable bedtime, its all -let loose- business. That’s a luxury guys that I am so grateful for.
I wish that this story reminds you of something from your own family story.
Don’t judge, I am aloud to be a little peasant once in a while.
thank you
love
Anete Sooda Photo
ANETE SOODA PHOTO 