The arrivals hall in Vaclav airport is about half the size of Terminal One Arrivals Hall in Dublin. It’s generally much quieter and reserved, but on this particular day, I noticed a giddy twenty-something year old who stood with a large sign saying ‘Porn Stars This Way”. She was clearly Irish, waiting eagerly for her friends to arrive, giggling away to herself in anticipation of them coming through the door. I laughed to myself – this is something I would do – but I was waiting for my 80-year-old mother, so perhaps a sign like that wasn’t appropriate.

It’s safe to say I inherited sarcasm from my dad, and large doses of mischief from my mam. This story will shed some light on the latter.  Her little head appeared through the EXIT ONLY door, lower than usual, as she was wheeled out by a unusually handsome disability assistance staff-member.  His bright yellow vest distracted me from my mom’s sheepish grin, (or maybe it was the gold teeth that twinkled when he smiled).

Orla, I’ve got a story for you, she said reaching up for a hug.

I can’t wait to hear mam, I said, shaking hands with the hunky wheelchair man, and grabbing onto her suitcase.

This is Henry, she said. He knows what happened.

Hi Henry, thanks for taking care of her, hope she wasn’t too much trouble now, I laughed, anticipating a backhand from my mother.

I’m never any trouble. I was no trouble, was I Henry? she flirted. She was actually flirting.

She is no trouble, he spoke in broken English, but she DOES have a good story. I’ve become so accustomed to the Czech accent now, after four years of living in Prague. The cadence can sometimes be harsh, but I’ve learned to depend on it weirdly.

Dekuji Moc, I replied (meaning thank you very much) in my overt north Dublin accent. I wondered if he thought the same of my awful intonations.

Orla, I’m scalded, she said.

Scalded?

Yes Orla, Scalded. Wait’ll I tell you what happened on the plane.

Bracing myself, I had a mix of concern for the possibility that she had in fact been burnt by something, and a sense of curiosity about what had really gone on. Like me, my mam is prone to telling a good yarn. And she seemed happy enough, standing up out of the wheelchair, grabbing her stick and shuffling along beside me, linking my arm for extra support.

The disability assistance service provided by most airlines these days is fantastic. Mam can get around no problem, but she is slow moving. We all know the hustle and bustle required to get through airports these days, not to mention that a woman’s average daily step requirement will easily be fulfilled walking to the gate. So it is a very handy little service we use now for my mum whenever she feels like jet-setting off. They carry her suitcase too, and even stop off in duty free if she likes.

Go on so, tell me what happened, I could sense she was dying to tell me.

Well, I had a lovely seat. 7D, in the aisle, and there was a lovely girl in the window and no-one in between us. My mother always likes to set the scene before launching into the beef of the story.

Yes.

And of course, I said to myself, I’ll order a cup of tea and have a little sandwich. Sure aren’t I on my holidays, I said.

Yes, I said, imagining where this was going.

Well, she said, Just as I was taking out my card to pay, didn’t I knock the boiling water and tea-bag all over myself.

Ouch! Mam!!, I could almost feel the sting she’d felt.

Look at me, I’m scalded. It’s all over my blouse and my jeans and it’s in me knickers and up my bum and everything, she proceeded to show me her tea-stained attire.

Jesus Christ, are you okay?

I’m okay now, but wait’ll I tell you about Agata.

At this point, we’d stopped for a rest by the airport exit. Annabelle joined us having just parked the car.  My mum LOVES Annabelle and always seems to forget I’m in the room, just for a second, when she sees her. I can’t really blame her. Annabelle IS lovely.

Annabelle, how ARE YOU? mam hugged her tightly.

She’s scalded, I said

She’s what? remarked Annabelle. Now, my family and I do enjoy teasing her that English is not really her first language (it IS), and I figured she wouldn’t have heard the Dublin accentuated term ‘SCALDED’ before. (She hadn’t)

I’m burnt. The tea spilled all over me.

Scalded, I repeated.

Oh Physsie, are you okay? Annabelles gentle Maltese tones were soothing.

It’s all over her shirt, her trousers, her knickers, I said.

But Agata was gorgeous, she really was. It was my own fault. My mam was now linking Annabelle as they continued to shuffle towards the car. I held back a minute to observe the light brown stain on the back of her jeans.

Agata?, I caught up to them.

Oh yes. She took me straight to the toilet and I had to pull down my trousers really quickly. She put this burn gel all over my legs. Wait’ll I show you!”, mam was animated now. Almost proud of what had happened.

Did you yell out in pain? Annabelle asked, clearly confused by the relaxed delivery of a terrible story.

Well, I didn’t want to make a fuss, she said, so I kept it inside you know? I wanted to scream. But then Agata was right there and she was lovely.

So what happened then? Did she take off your trousers? I asked

Well, luckily we wiped it all off and it was only the inside of my leg that was burnt, so she put more gel on it, and then wrapped it up in a bandage.

This sounds terrible! Annabelle was traumatised.

Oh no it was grand. I sat on the toilet for the whole flight Orla.

WHAT?

Yes, well my jeans were around my ankles and Agata had to keep re-applying the burn gel. So she brought me a cup of tea.

Into the toilet?

Yes. It was lovely. They wiped down the whole place and I sat there drinking my tea. They closed off the toilet Orla. Even the captain had to use the one at the back. Mam was SO PROUD!

Was the door closed, mam? I had visions of my mother sitting on a toilet seat in a very confined space, drinking her tea.

No, Agata left the door open a bit, and she was checking on me all the time and no-one was allowed to use it. And then her supervisor, oh what was his name? A lovely little man, I’d say he was gay as Christmas (my mother has no filters) he had a little swish, you know? He brought me a sandwich!

You had a sandwich in the toilet?

Yes! It was lovely. Ham and cheese croissant.

You had a cup of tea and a sandwich sitting in the toilet with your trousers down? I asked.

At 36,000 feet, Annabelle inserted.

And I told Agata I didn’t want her to see my ‘bits’, but she said she had the same bits as me so I shouldn’t worry.

At this stage, I couldn’t help but chuckle. My mam had just been burnt by a boiling cup of tea and was relaying the story with animation and positivity, not complaining at all, just complimenting the staff aboard the Aer Lingus flight.

I’ve noticed a fantastic shift in my mom lately. She’s had one hell of a year. A heart-attack just before her 80^th birthday in April forced her into hospital for an extended stay of 6 weeks. But since then, she has developed a wonderful outlook. She is living in every single moment. Whether she’s visiting her own friends for tea and cake (she’s had to cut back mind you), or bringing thank you presents to the local pharmacist – oh he’s so quick with filling my prescriptions, Orla (that’s his job mam) or lighting a candle for our cat who had an eye infection, she is bubbling with mischief and joie de vivre.

I told Agata that my daughter would write a story about this, she finally said when I got her home.

Examining her burns, and reapplying some gel, I noticed how soft her skin was, and how gentle her gaze became as I put stain-remover on her blouse.

You’ve grown up Orla, she said, almost surprised.

Not yet mam, I laughed. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

I suppose you’re right, she said. But aren’t you glad I got you a story to write?

I’m delighted mam. You’ve always been very kind to me.

If your mam is still alive and you have an opportunity to give her a hug, do it! Tell her how much you love her and appreciate her. If you’ve lost your mam, then think of your most favourite memory or memories with her.  They do live on in our minds. Our thoughts keep them alive.

Mam had a brilliant stay here in Prague with us. There are lots of other stories that can be told later. After four laughter-filled days, I dropped her off at Vaclav airport where a giant of a man named George picked her up. He had a yellow vest too, no gold tooth, but a massive laugh. As he pushed her through security, I couldn’t help but smile with gratitude. Fighting back the tears, I wondered if I’d ever see her again.

A few minutes later I got a text:

Orla, George is gorgeous. He’s after stopping in duty free so I could buy some of those liquors, and then we had a lovely cup of tea, followed by multiple emojis.

She’ll be grand, Annabelle is learning the lingo fast. She’s living in the moment. We can all learn from that.

In the distance, we could hear loud laughter from a group of young women. They were howling, doubled over with guffaws as one raised a sign ‘Come back soon ya hookers!’. The Irish girls who’d arrived four days earlier, clearly had a wild time as porns stars in Prague.