Part 6 - Life after Dad (1991 to 2011)
This and the previous section are briefer than other sections. I have a life threatening brain tumour which I’ve been dealing with since August 2024, so my research and writing is pretty slow. There are few pictures, and less text and I rely fairly heavily on my sister Kate, whose own recollection appear in below.
Kate and I plan to flesh this out over coming months.
When Dad died in 1991, Mum entered a completely new chapter of her life — one she had never really imagined. For the first time, she wasn’t answerable to anyone. She hadn’t handled the finances during the marriage, hadn’t written a cheque, and had lived for decades within the limits of frugality shaped by both her country upbringing and the financial constraints of the marriage.
Suddenly, she had choices. Money in her own name. A home that could finally reflect her taste, not someone else’s rules or habits.
At first, this freedom felt almost too big. We encouraged her to let herself enjoy it — to replace the old, second-hand furniture she’d lived with for so many years and choose pieces that made her feel proud and comfortable. She loved the idea, chose beautiful new furniture, and even got as far as paying the deposit… only to cancel it all at the last minute.
It wasn’t reluctance — it was guilt. A lifetime of putting herself last. A sense that spending money on herself was somehow wrong when the world held so much hardship and poverty. It was deeply ingrained.
After gentle but firm encouragement from all of us — especially Rob — she finally gave herself permission to say yes. And when she reordered, she chose even more beautiful pieces: quality blackwood furniture with soft aqua upholstery that she absolutely adored. It transformed the back room — her family room — where she spent so much of her time and where she would later entertain countless visitors with warmth and pride.
Mum also had the entire house painted, carpeted over bland vinyl, freshening every room. Putting her stamp on it. She moved her bedroom to a different part of the house and furnished it with classic rosewood pieces that felt both elegant and deeply ‘her.’ Hanging a print of Botticelli’s Three Graces above her bed, a work she loved for its beauty and softness, seemed to reflect the sense of freedom she was beginning to claim. She turned the small middle room into her office — a simple but loved space with a desk and an always-full diary, and shelving where she displayed her favourite china and glassware. These weren’t just for show; she used them often in the years ahead, hosting family, neighbours, and friends with the gentle hospitality she was known for.
The Years of Travel and New Horizons
While we did have our annual and much-loved trips to Avoca, and Mum often travelled to family in regional areas, travel beyond that had never really been part of Mum’s life while Dad was alive. Dad always used to say, “Why bother travelling when you have National Geographic!” His rigid frugality, and his fears — of accidents, illness, things going wrong — were powerful and ever-present, shaping the family’s choices for decades. Even a simple flight was, to him, a risk too great. (Kate still remembers being eighteen and Dad not speaking to her for two weeks because she flew to the Gold Coast instead of taking the ‘safe’ train — such was the weight of his anxiety.)
There were practical barriers too. The idea of fending for himself while Mum was away travelling held no appeal for him, and Mum had long lived within those boundaries.
After Dad’s death, a whole world opened for Mum.
For the first time in her life, she had both the freedom and the means to go places she’d never had the chance to see before. And she embraced it with such enthusiasm that travel quickly became one of the great joys of her life.
There was a lightness in her during those years, a widening of her world that felt overdue and deeply deserved. She could choose where she wanted to go, when she wanted to go, and with whom. No restrictions, no fear, no one else’s anxiety overshadowing her curiosity.
It was the beginning of a whole new adventure.
Mum and the Sisters on the Move
Once Mum began travelling, she didn’t do it halfway. England and Europe, America, Asia, Japan – where her granddaughter lived, New Zealand and many parts of Australia — she embraced it all. One of Mum’s favourite places was Stanley Chasm. She loved the deep reds and the glowing light on the rock walls, and the print of that landmark stayed on her family room wall for all the years she was in the home — and later, we hung it in her room at the nursing home, along with the Botticelli. Both prints stayed with her, much loved, for the rest of her life.
In those travelling years, true to O’Brien tradition, Mum often teamed up with one or another of her sisters — Claire, Helen, Joan or Anne. Mary had already had her adventure years earlier in Lae, Papua New Guinea, so now it was the turn of the others.
They travelled with a kind of effortless camaraderie that perhaps only comes from growing up in a large family. Warm, funny, gregarious — they talked to everyone! On planes, in queues, on tours, wandering through markets… they gathered stories and friendships so naturally. People everywhere seemed to love them and be drawn to their warmth and humour.
Wherever there were relatives, they stayed — and were welcomed with the kind of affection that made them feel like royalty. Sometimes their brothers Cyril, Reg or Frank joined them on different trips. Often, they travelled to see Frank and Kath in Perth or Harold and Joan in Brisbane. Trains, planes and automobiles – there was always a trip being planned. They rode on motorbikes, boom nets and helicopters, seeing all manner of sights in Australia and far beyond.
Claire — Mum’s Dearest Travel Companion
Mum’s special and most frequent travel companion was Claire. They had such an amazing and special bond. They didn’t always agree! But their love shone through. These years of travel were brilliant for them both.
Often, we would arrive at Mum’s to find someone or some group she’d met overseas staying with her for a few days — ‘Gwen’s Bed and Breakfast!’ we called it. And Claire was the same. These beautiful women knew how to make people feel welcome. This was a gift that Mum and the O’Briens shared — the ability to welcome people from anywhere with any story and to fold them into our broad and open family. What lessons we learned from Mum in this time! They stay with us forever.
Mum’s Kitchen — The Heart of the Welcome
And the cooking!!! Mum’s cookies always on the kitchen bench. Anzac biscuits, melting moments, yum yum cookies and shortbread. Simple and easily thrown together signature lunch of ham and chicken, avocado and salad and crispy cob loaf with lashings of butter and love! What more could you want? In our family we still say “Do you want a Mum lunch?”
The Dining Room — Laughter and Warmth
Her formal dining room was the setting for so many memorable dinners. She loved setting up the table with pretty flowers from her garden and napkins crisp and folded in fan shapes with her polished silver cutlery. We so remember her in those days of entertaining — with no “bah humbugs” from Dad — making everything special for guests with simple but beautiful meals: lamb roasts, chicken curries and more.
What people remember most is the laughter and chatter that echoed in that dining room. She often entertained the priests from her church or from Aunty Anne’s church as well, providing a wonderful hospitality that reminded them perhaps of their own homes. Family from country areas coming to Sydney for appointments or gatherings, would stay at Mum or Claire’s. Always welcome. Mum’s niece Margie, Cyril’s daughter from Newcastle, spent many months working in Sydney and stayed with Mum each week, travelling home on weekends to her four children - unofficial cherished extra daughter!
Party Girl!
And then came the parties.
That back room could be transformed in minutes — music on, platters of what Mum always laughingly called her “horses douvres”, chairs pushed back, and that familiar O’Brien laughter filling the space. A 40th, a 60th, a retirement, a graduation, a farewell… any occasion could become a celebration. Mum loved those gatherings, and that room held the memory of many happy nights — full of warmth, fun and easy company. Perhaps it still does now?
Her Grandchildren — The Light of Her Life
These children were the light of her life. When Dad died, Lauren, Charlotte, Samantha, Ben and Michael were 6 - 16. Elyse and Alexander were still to come. They were all so special to her.
They loved visiting her home — cookies on the bench, backyard games, and the feeling of being fully accepted and welcomed. She made each grandchild feel special, seen and loved.
In 1999, when Charlotte had Sam, Mum became a great-grandmother.
Family gatherings were wonderfully noisy, chaotic affairs — everyone talking at once, grandkids dancing or singing, voices overlapping, laughter bursting out, word games starting in one corner and silliness in another. It was loud, fun, and full of life.
Tennis — A Lifelong Love
Mum absolutely loved tennis and played with ‘the girls’ every Thursday morning — Claire, Robyn, Morna, Barbara, Pam and Kate. Then Tuesday nights for night tennis with guys and girls – Ian, Peter, Steve.... Such fun. Mum played tennis until just before she was 80.
She was running to answer a phone call, slipped and tripped, damaging her shoulder and ending a lifelong passion for playing tennis.
But those years were such a vital part of Mum. It must have been an enormous thing to let that part of her life go — something that had been with her since childhood days, playing tennis on a rough-and-ready court in the bush at Junee Reefs; avid player later, avid watcher of worldwide tennis always — and yet in typical Mum style she never complained but just got on with life.
We so remember knowing she and Claire and sometimes Anne had been up and watching tennis into the wee small hours. It was core to the whole family.
Making a Splash!
Mum hadn’t learned to swim until her forties, but once she did, she absolutely loved the water. She went regularly to aqua-aerobics and soon became part of yet another social group — chatting after class, going for coffee, and meeting up for lunches. We remember a time in the early stages of Alzheimer’s when she headed off to North Sydney to meet the group for their Christmas lunch but never made it. She couldn’t remember the address or where she’d written it down and eventually found her way home. It was a small sign of what was beginning, but she handled it with her usual calm - and certainly a dash of humour!
Her Community, Her Faith, Her Traditions
Another constant in Mum’s life during these years was her church. When she died, she had been part of the parish for seventy years — an extraordinary span of friendships, routines and quiet service. She and Claire regularly did the Sunday flowers, taking real pleasure in creating something beautiful for the altar. She often carried the bread and wine at the Offertory, handing them to the priest with a quiet reverence that came so naturally to her — an honest expression of the faith she lived every day. Mum and Claire also volunteered at the Matthew Talbot men’s home in the city, serving meals to men who were homeless or struggling. They went on coach trips with the parish, laughing with the same people year after year, and Mum taught scripture to the children — something she did faithfully and without fuss.
Mum stayed closely connected to her school friends from Monte Sant’ Angelo. Every year they gathered — the same circle of ‘girls’, now women in their seventies and eighties — and the stories, laughter and affection never seemed to fade.
She loved hosting gatherings, too. Melbourne Cup Day was one of her favourite celebrations. She entertained her tennis group and others, bringing together a motley group that always got along. And we remember helping her ‘draw the sweep’ for her guests. It became a tradition — not because of the race, but because she loved having people together, marking the day with food, chatter and a bit of fun.
Those regular events and celebrations mattered to her. They gave shape to the year, offered connection and continuity, and allowed Mum to express her warmth, creativity and hospitality. She had grown up in a large, lively family, and these small traditions seemed to carry something of that early life — the joy, the gathering, the belonging — into her later years.
Rob and Leslie ‘did’ her second last Melbourne Cup Day luncheon in 2010. And Charlotte helped with the last in 2011.
Mum’s Steady Presence
During all these years our family went through its share of breakups and difficult times. No matter what was happening, Mum was there — steady, capable and completely dependable. She supported us all with quiet love and practical help, including having Charlotte and Kate live with her for a time after a traumatic relationship ended. Nothing was ever too much trouble for Mum. She walked the talk of her faith with humility, humour and a marvellous consistency.
To go to the next section of Gwen’s story click here.
To be re-directed to any other part of Gwen’s story, click on the applicable blue text below.
Part 1 -The Cooberang years (1928 to 1941)
Part 2 - Move to Sydney and the War years (1941 to 1945)
Part 3- First jobs, meeting Alf and religious differences (1945 to 1951)
Part 4 - Marriage and children (1951 to 1965)
Part 5 - Taking control and drifting apart (1965 to 1991)
Part 6 - Life after Dad (1991 to 2011)
Part 7 - The Alzheimer years (2011 to 2020)