Wednesday

Spent the day walking The Dog and trying to piece together the events since Friday evening from the WhatsApp conversations with family over the weekend. When you read those posts they’ll be written as if done on the day but obviously they weren’t. But not unpacking the thoughts was doing my head in and it needed doing.

We met familiar faces on the walks.

“Have you made your plans for Christmas?” they’d ask.

I’d talked about what to say about the inevitable question with Lesley before we went out. I’d decided not to pull any punches.

“Christmas plans are a bit up in the air. My Mum died on Monday.”

I haven’t yet been presented with the statement “But was she peaceful at the end?” but the answer is already prepared.

“Peaceful? No. What I witnessed her going through was absolutely horrific. I may have mis-read her expression before they administered the End of Life meds but it looked like fear and confusion to me and she was also frustrated that she couldn’t make herself understood. I stayed until I was convinced that she had no idea there was anyone with her. I felt utterly helpless that the only thing I could do was reassure her that the nurses were there with us, that they were working hard to make her more comfortable and that everything was going to be OK.”

Not going to sugar-coat it and, yes, before you say anything I’ll admit that underlying the anger was the guilt around the fact that Mum was spending her last hours in that state due to a decision I made on Saturday. I thought she’d be better off in familiar surroundings with familiar people. I’d seen how badly affected she’d been when she was transferred to The Home some months ago and she was an awful lot more sick and frail today than she was then. I saw no point in subjecting her to a traumatic trip to A&E and she may not have received the meds she needed any more quickly there anyway. Not on a Saturday night… She could equally have been triaged down a queue and breathed her last on a trolley in a hospital corridor. So perhaps I saved her from that.

We got a call from one of Eldest Sister’s boys this evening. He was checking to see how we were and thanking us for doing so much for his Grandma. He spoke to Lesley mostly and was understandably reticent about talking to me.

“Do you want to speak to Nick?”

“Er, er… I don’t know what to say to him!”

“Don’t worry, here he is…”

He coped brilliantly. It was a brave call to make and not a call I was able to make to my uncle when he was in my situation. He really is a quite remarkable young man and I told his mum so.

But the day started with a phone call. It was Reggie calling from The Home.

“Hello NIIICK!! Julie wants to speak to you…”

Juliette had had a special bond with Mum. She had a knack of asking Mum just the right question in just the right way and also understanding what Mum said in order to work out what the problem was. I’d already told her managers at The Home that I thought it was uncanny.

“It’s like some sort of witchcraft. She’s amazing!”

Juliette would sit with Mum a lot. They’d talk or sing together or listen to music that Juliette would get Alexa to play.

But Juliette had had a few days off and had last seen Mum on Thursday.

“Iris was fine then. Eating and drinking normally. Even the notes from Friday morning look normal for Iris. And 3pm, a full milkshake and a squash… What happened!?”

I explained what had I’d seen and thought it interesting that she’d rather ask me than her colleagues. Perhaps they weren’t on shift today.

“I hope you didn’t mind me calling you. I’m just full of tears and I knew I wouldn’t be able to work until I’d spoken to you.”

Bloody hell.

Author’s Note

My Mum is in a nursing home in a small village in the Thames Valley. The photo is not of the home. I used an AI image generator to give the reader some idea of the home she’s in.

All, some or maybe even none (you’ll never know!) of the names have been changed to protect privacy and hide real identities. If you think you recognise someone then let me know and I’ll edit the post or remove it entirely