Thursday 18 December 2008
By MP on Thursday 18 December 2008, 20:17 - Journal
This weblog now enters a new phase, as the final act involving my mother took
place today.
We had the funeral in the same chapel and in much the same clear weather
conditions as for dad's funeral. There were some differences. It is a much
hotter time of year now, and standing in the sun in a suit was not comfortable,
not for long, anyway. The music was the same as for dad. The flowers were
different, slightly, including irises this time. There were flowers from Bob,
mum's brother, and from a close friend of mine, also containing irises. The
coffin was white, not wood. And three of the family spoke.
Derek's wife Janet read a hymn which had been sung at our grandmother Annie's
funeral in 1963, and then talked about her early experiences as a
daughter-in-law, and the help and welcome she received from our mother. Then
Rachel spoke, and described mum very well, covering her early life, meeting our
father, leaving England, raising, in effect, two families and travelling all
over the world. And last, I read the messages, not just those that have been
received for mum, but also those for dad, most of which came in too late, and
which we were just not in the right frame of mine to read back then.
I found it harder to read the messages that I expected. I had read them several
times over to myself in preparation, but at the time, after having listened to
Rachel's very affecting talk, I heard my voice faltering at times. However, it
was good to have made the thoughts of family and friends public. I do think dad
deserved it too, even though it was not his occasion today. I think we are all
much more in possession of ourselves and able to determine what needs to be
done, and how, this time.
There were fewer people at the funeral than last time; fewer from the church,
and no family friends. When, mid-reading, I looked up at the congregation I was
surprised at how small a gathering it was. We had expected staff from the
retirement village to attend but in the event they were unable to.
Rachel has produced an order of service, using a photograph of mum taken on
17th April 2003 - both her 81st birthday and mum and dad's 60th wedding
anniversary. For that event, we had received telegrams from Queen Elizabeth and
several dignitries, the Governor-General, the Governor, the Prime Minister, the
Premier and the local Member of Parliament. I'd presented mum with a bound
first edition of the family history. We drank three champagnes, three different
whites, three reds, and five dessert wines. But, really, all mum cared about
was that everyone was there, all of the family who were there again
today.
Afterwards we all went back to Greg and Regan's place, and had lunch sitting
out on the deck overlooking the bay. None of us appear to be functioning in any
way different from how we normally would. Life really does go on. I was
interested to hear Derek reminisce about our mother's mother's funeral, the one
I mentioned earlier. Several of our Irish relatives came across from Belfast,
and some from where they were living in Southport. They surprised Derek by
having no reserve, they were as familiar with him as they were with each other.
One grabbed a clothes-brush and brushed at Derek's jacket.
I left after lunch. A bad night's sleep last night and too much wine the day
before had given me a strong need to get horizontal. I came home and slept from
3 pm to 6:30. It is now time to start thinking about dinner and feeding the
cats, both of whom outlived both my parents - something I didn't expect to
happen.
Tomorrow we are all going to a restaurant high on a hill-top overlooking the
Pacific. We went there after dad's funeral. Then, on Saturday, we are having
Christmas dinner together - the first time since 1992, when Cassie's birth was
still six years in the future.
Saturday 13 December 2008
By MP on Saturday 13 December 2008, 13:35 - Journal
It's odd how things turn out.
Rachel and I met with the undertaker, in the same room, round the same table,
as we had fourteen weeks ago. We knew the drill. The undertaker was a different
woman, much more matter of fact and business-like. The goal seemed to be to get
things done nicely, rather than to mourn, and this seemed suitable to the
occasion. We even joked several times.
The funeral is scheduled for 9:45 am on Thursday, and will be held in the same
chapel we had for dad, and the service will be conducted by the same minister,
who remembers mum from her church-going days. Derek and his family are flying
out here again, and will be here for four or five days. Mum's brother Bob sent
flowers. I feel very sorry for him; I am sure he would want to be here but he
is not young either and has an ailing wife to tend to.
My mood over the last few days has been, bizarrely, quite cheerful. I've had a
lot to do, both as a result of mum's death and simply because the rest of life
doesn't stop on these occasions, but I've been up each morning, unweighed by
misery or sorrow, and able to function quite normally. Yesterday was marked by
torrential rain. I had to make several car trips and got soaked several times.
It could have been an opportunity to read all sorts of pathetic fallacy into
the story, but it was not. I have a real sense now of being able to move on,
and I think that, when looked at objectively, this is exactly what this time
is: a time to move on.
I am very heartened by the messages that have come in as comments and private
emails since my last post. These are from people I have never met, but whose
parallel lives have helped set mine in context at times, and whose comments
over the years have added new insights into the process that none of us is ever
really prepared for. Towards the end I found my preoccupation with our own
family's experience precluded keeping a daily check on those of others, but it
had always been good to know that someone somewhere understood something of
what we were going through.
Our cousins have also been sending us their thoughts. They nearly all mention
the timing. It is odd to think of mum and dad being together for so many
decades and then leaving so soon one after the other. I am sure that the double
blow of this year is not what anyone would have expected, and certainly not
hoped for. At this time I am glad it has happened this way. There have been
times when I have looked at mum, wimpering and fidgeting in mute anxious
frustration and thought that this is just not worth prolonging. We had to do
all we could, as her life was as sacred as any, but now that it is over, and we
are still dealing with dad's death, it is satisfying that we can think of them
as dying together, as they were for most of their lives.
Greg contacted the people at the crematorium, who have still not done anything
with dad's ashes, and asked them to hold them until they have mum's too, and
then we shall decide what to do about both. Despite my earlier avowed
indifference to the matter, I think there is something good about this, too. I
am not sure what, yet, but I am sure it is the right thing to do.
Wednesday 10 December 2008
By MP on Wednesday 10 December 2008, 21:11 - Journal
My phone was ringing this morning. One message was from Regan, to say that mum
had collapsed this morning and the staff at the home had asked us to there
right away. They suspected a heart attack.
I left right after breakfast and had barely been in the car five minutes when
Regan called again to tell me that mum had died. It was a strange feeling,
dissociated, calm, already thinking about the numerous things that now need to
be done. I spent much of the remainder of the trip on the phone to a friend who
I had told, earlier in the morning, about the first call from Regan.
At the home I went to mum's room and found Regan and Rachel there with mum.
Greg was still at work, busily trying to rearrange his week so that he can take
the rest of it off work. Mum was lying in the bed, her face yellow, still badly
bruised. She reminded me immediately of dad, lying dead only a few metres away,
exactly fourteen weeks ago.
Apparently the staff had woken mum and got her showered and dressed. She had
been put to bed when she collapsed, but it was only ten or fifteen minutes
later when she died. None of us got there in time.
My reaction this time was almost completely the opposite of how I felt when dad
died. Back then, I just wanted to withdraw and think. This time, I wanted to
get cracking, do what had to be done and not spend any time commiserating with
myself. I left maybe half an hour later, sent some emails to Derek and our
cousins, made an appointment with the undertakers (10am on Friday), and began
collecting the information that will be required for the death certifcate. This
time I am making sure there is no room for error, I've printed out all the
details in exactly the format of the NSW death certificate, and I shall give
the undertaker a copy of that.
I am quite prepared for the meeting. This time it is Greg who wants to keep out
of the preparations. He said that as far as he is concerned, we can do an exact
repeat of dad's funeral, and I am inclined to agree. I said to Rachel that if
she wants to do more, that is fine, we just need to know what the differences
are to be by Friday's meeting. It might behove us to decide early rather than
at the last minute what the death notice should say.
My over-riding feelings are one part relief, two parts release. Numbness too,
perhaps. I think it is a release for all of us. Mum may have been content most
of the time, and cheerful for quite a lot of it, but we had the prospect of
steadily worsening conditions, and constantly lowered expectations. We've been
released from that now, and this overlays the realisation that we can now
really start to sort things our, rather than constantly steeling ourselves for
worse to come. The numbness is due to the fact that it still hasn't quite sunk
in that dad is dead.
Dad's affairs are by no means resolved, and now a number of the processes that
I had initiated are invalid, as they had involved the transfer of assets to
mum. We now need to go back and do things differently, and now things are not
quite so clear-cut, as there are four beneficiaries (my three siblings and I)
instead of one.
It has been one hell of a year: putting first mum and then dad in the home,
clearing the house, dealing with dad's death, its bureaucratic aftermath, and
now with mum's. I went back to my blog entries for early January, just to see
how things had changed since then. Back in January dad was plaguing me with
telephone calls and I was constantly impatient with him. Back then, he was
still compos mentis enough to suggest in his garbled way that we go out for
lunch together. And we never did.
Sunday 7 December 2008
By MP on Sunday 7 December 2008, 14:36 - Journal
I dropped in to visit mum yesterday afternoon.
I was in for several surprises. Mum was sitting in a wheel chair, wearing a
night-dress, and sitting next to her was Rachel.
The wheel chair caused me some concerns. The background to this is that since
her series of falls mum appears to have lost the confidence to stand or walk
unaided. The staff cannot be there to take an arm each side every time mum
needs to walk, and in any event, mum tends to try to slump down anyway, and
make herself a dead weight. the wheel chair is the only viable option now for
moving mum. Mum also seemed to lose interest in food. The staff are confident
that they can get her appetite back, but they are pessimistic about her walking
again. The physiotherapist has been a regular visitor, but walking also depends
on the will and the memory of how to do it - and mum seems to have neither now.
This augurs badly. Once mobility is lost, muscles atrophy that much faster,
fluid collects where it should not, and the circulation suffers. All these
factors add up to a kind of attrition against the body - a process that we saw
eating into dad increibly quickly. And the end is inevitable. Neither Rachel
nor Greg think mum will last another year, and I have to agree with them.
Rachel had been successful in encouraging mum to drink orange juice. She can
still lift a cup to her mouth and knows how to regulate her own drinking. The
only weakness is that she sometimes seems to become distracted and forget that
she is holding the cup, and it will start to tip.
On the positive side of the balance, I noted that the bruising on mum's face
has reduced markedly. She still looks bad, with her missing teeth, blearly
eyes, wild hair and deep wrinkles, but a lot better than she had done a few
days ago.
Oddly, none of us seemed that upset about mum's condition. I don't know if it
is because this is coming so soon after dad's death, and we area all a bit numb
still, or whether we have just seen so much and recognise the inexorable
quality of these slow descents.
We did talk a bit about dad at dinner later, the three of us. I mentioned that
I keep having the thought, 'my dad's dead', but that it seems to have no
content, to be no more meaningful than saying 'a equals b'. Rachel says she has
been experiencing the same thing. Earlier this week I told one other friend
about dad's death, and we discussed this point. He's also suffered a
bereavement and says that he has thought the same thought every day since, with
the same emotional detachment.
Maybe mum's passing will be over before we know it, at this rate. It's an odd
thought. I always thought we would all be more affected by losing her than
losing dad. It may still prove to be so.