Le blog de maud.tardieu

Addressed to Patrice Tardieu on a small piece of cardboard:

«　My Pat,

All my life, all my strength, all my courage is you. You have taught me what is the strongest in oneself. You give me the «　not-forgotten　», you give me «　the beyond　» and the regret not to have given you more. It’s you who gave me «　life　».

I give you the intangible, the non-visible, the feeling without words, the silent access of great worth, the «　near　» so profound and all my tenderness.

Your mum".

Patrice Tardieu, in answer to a letter he has received after the death of Maud: No, I don’t have «　the happiness to read the writings　» of my mother, because I can’t read them, my eyes blur themselves so much with tears; what she writes moves me. I blame myself not to have enough returned her love-tenderness.

    ..............................................................................Maud’s trunk (6)

Keyword: last words, to rely on a pain, to go further, not to leave, the one who seems not to be anymore, the departure, to call in the night, alone in the dark, to hold her hand, not to hear anything, to sleep, the noise of the street, not even think of it, tomorrow, the morning after, dead, to wake up, to move, for me, with me, in me, to beleive in the other, my sole presence, to comfort, my peaceful way of being there, to reassure, "already you're going?", to put the light out, to go to sleep, from the dark, to resound, together, maybe. 

«　A pain on which you can rely, to go further, without leaving the one who seems not to be anymore.　» (written on a small piece of paper by Maud, as all the other texts).

An account by Patrice Tardieu of the «　departure　» of Maud Tardieu, his mother, written two days later:

«　Perhaps she called me in the night? All alone in the dark?

What could I have done?

At least take her hand…

I didn’t hear anything. I was sleeping.

Anyhow the noise of the street in the room in which I sleep is so that I cannot hear if someone is calling…

I didn’t even think of it.

She had said to me: «　See you tomorrow morning, at breakfast, My Pat　.»

The morning after, I was preparing her breakfast.

She was dead. I had opened the inside shutters, pulled the curtains.

I try to wake her up, she does not move, she doesn’t say as she did every morning: «　Good morning, My Pat.　», «　have you slept well?　»,　«　how are you this morning?　»

She lived for me, with me, in me. She believed in me.

My sole presence comforted her; my peaceful way of being there when I worked near her, in her room, reassured her.

In the evening, we would look at a film; when I went in the shower room, just beside, which stayed with the lights on, she was always surprised: «　Already?　» («　you’re going　»). I would put the light out of her bedside lamp, lower the adjustable back of her bed. She would go to sleep while I was shaving and cleaning myself. But, nearly always, from the dark, a voice would resound: «　Tomorrow morning, maybe we could take together our breakfast?　»

I answered: «　Maybe…　»

.

Keyword: to be so near, not to kiss one another, space, to be separated, ache, sharp pain, tension deep inside, unbearable, to dwell elsewhere, to be totally calm, the turmoil of life, to die during your sleep, the "best death" conceivable, to die at home, her son beside her, to miss someone, to live without me, me live whithout her, to dwell elsewhere, ashes, dust, to live again, to publish her writings.

La malle de Maud (4)

«　Être si près et ne pas s’embrasser et laisser l’espace vous séparer;

douleur,

une souffrance très forte, touchée du bout des doigts. La tension est très profonde et devient insupportable.　»

Après la vie

«　Quand j’irai habiter ailleurs　»

«　Je suis d’une tranquillité absolue, je ne suis plus dans le tourbillon de la vie.　»

Patrice Tardieu:

tout le monde me dit «　Votre mère est morte dans son sommeil, c’est ainsi que l’on voudrait tous mourir; c’est la plus belle mort; de plus, elle est morte à la maison auprès de son fils.　»

Oui, mais moi,  je ne voulais pas qu’elle meure. Elle me manque. Je comprends maintenant qu’elle ne pouvait pas vivre sans moi, et moi sans elle. Mais elle «　habite　» ailleurs. Elle n’est plus que cendres…C’est pourquoi, pour qu’elle «　vive　» encore, je publie ses textes.

                                      .......................................................Maud’s trunk (4)

«　To be so near and not kiss one another, let space separate us; ache,

sharp pain touched nearly by the finger’s end. The tension goes deep inside and becomes unbearable.　»

After my life

«　when I will dwell elsewhere　»

«　I am totally calm,

I am not anymore in the turmoil of life.　»

Patrice Tardieu:

everyone tells me «　Your mother died during her sleep. It’s like that we all would like to die; it’s the best death. And moreover, she died at home, with her son beside her.　»

Yes, but I didn’t want her to die. I miss her. I understand now that she could not live without me and me without her. But she  «　dwells　» elsewhere. She is now ashes…It’s why, so that she still «　lives　», I put on line her writings…