To say, just one thing that matters...

It is Sunday, and powder flakes of snow drift into view, then quickly disappear as they hit the pavement of St. Giles.There is no one else about at this early hour and the streets are still littered with the white dusted detritus of Saturday night. I ponder on the fleeting nature of all things as tears once more brook from my eyes. I want the suffering to end for my mum, but the concept of not having her alive in my life is surreal and terrifies me. I grew in her belly and my heart drew fire from hers to beat as a companion. I feel selfish for wanting her to live for my needs, alongside guilt for dreaming of an end to this pain. But I know that even a binary like Sirius will die.

 

The whispering ‘door closing’ of the hospital elevator feels like a portent bringing more tears. I try to pull myself together before entering the ward but the nurses are used to flushed faces and red eyes. I stand outside her door composing myself as I go through the ritual hand washing and cloaking up before entering. At least we no longer need to wear the gloves and can touch and feel mum again.

The room is quiet and warm but reverberates to a laboured sawing chug the nurse calls Cheyne-Stokes breathing. The lighting is soft and I sit close to mum, bathing in a womb of intimacy as I stroke her arm. The skin is a mottled sepia parchment scarred by injection bruising, but its warmth reassures and tears soak into skin as I kiss her forehead.

 

 

 (Driveway - Northampton General)
 

There is still some strength and the thinnest thread of hope. A panic seizes me at the realisation that I might never hear her voice again, and I curse myself for all the curtailed conversations, when I was too busy to spend five minutes talking about the weather. I would give anything in my possession right now for just one spoken word from her lips. Not for the first time I look up to the ceiling and say a prayer; if there is a God, please show yourself.

 

I have brought my iPod today to soothe mum and anchor memories in sound. I choose songs carefully and talk to mum as I do so, explaining my reasons. I never want to forget these precious minutes or the unconditional love that hangs in the room. The gentle wave crashing metronome of Leb’ Wohl synchronises with the percussion of her breathing to bring a calm and beauty to the moment.

 

http://www.last.fm/music/Neu!/_/Leb'+wohl

 

All I can say is I love you over and over and for the first time in my life, I truly understand the words. I pray that my energy is helping to keep her alive and easing her pain.

 

Yesterday whilst taking a break some lyrics entered my mind, and I wrote them down on a restaurant napkin and then placed this on mum’s pillow. I can see that the nurses have moved the message carefully after turning mum and I mouth a thank you for their understanding and compassion. I whisper the words into her ear.

 

Colin joins me so I move from my seat to allow him to gaze directly at mum. She has twisted and migrated to the left of the bed and her head pushes deep into the pillow. I ask Colin what music he would like to hear and his request for classical guitar is answered with Carlos Paredes whose virtuosity fills the room with beautiful chiming melancholia. The music and the moment are timeless and stored for future recall. Soon I will only have memories and I am greedy for them.

http://www.youtube.com/v/81K0m3OoG3w&fs=1&source=uds&autoplay=1

Helen arrives and I use her presence to celebrate Doreen’s feisty vivacious single mindedness and humour. We all giggle as I recall the Christmas when she got very drunk, decided to dance, and mounted the dining room table with a tea cosy hat and wooden spoons for drumsticks. The stories are threaded with a rich weave of happiness and I take comfort that mum’s energy will live on entwined in my DNA for as long as I draw breath. Joni enters my mind - we are stardust, we are golden.

http://www.youtube.com/v/IBqodL2OJ1A&fs=1&source=uds&autoplay=1

Colin’s face is lined with trenches of worry and as I gaze at his torture, I realise how much I love him. He has been the father I never had and a steadfast and loving husband to Doreen. But for him I would never have dared to spread my wings and leave Northampton. To leave mum with my pig of father would have been unthinkable. Romantic love does exist, distilled and pure, right here, right now. If I get to experience anything close to what I see between them, I will die a happy man.

 

 

I decide to take a break and wander across to Debenhams to buy clean underwear. I will not leave this town or my mum’s side again until her last breath. The streets are still quiet but the snow has stopped. Pigeons mill to serenading church bells as my adolescence flickers into life. Views, shapes and vantage points light memories but few are happy ones. I was hidden, living a lie and stifled by mediocrity here. I feel no sense of attachment or belonging and soon I will have no reason to return. This book is closing.

I return to the ward feeling refreshed and begin to write. My modest classical playlist has spun to the Adagio of Spartacus & Phrygia by Khachaturian. The room is swathed in the familiarity, sweetness and romanticism of the melody.

http://www.youtube.com/v/86v05kSTZ3Y&fs=1&source=uds&autoplay=1

Suddenly Colin’s face fills with panic and he cries out.

It’s happening, I’ve seen it before

I scramble to his side. The breathing has become shallow, gasping and uneven. The spaces between breaths ever more erratic. I can do nothing but stare and wait, not knowing if this is the last but then she simply stops. There is no gasp or cry, just silence. Colin points to her eyes and I notice a small tear meandering down her cheek. She’s crying he says. She’s happy I say.

In panic I ring the alarm and nurses rush in. One feels for a pulse on mum’s neck and to our amazement says she’s still with us. I place my hand on the same spot and feel her life fade with each beat until she is gone. I look at the clock and note the time. 4.45PM. Shock, fear and relief explode in shrieking wails. It is unbearable and the three of us collapse into each other in a ball of pain. I watch as the nurse once more checks for a pulse and shines a torch in my mum’s eye. I notice that it is wet and bright but I know that she’s left us.

The nurses leave us alone, and we take turns to kiss mum and tell her how much we love her. No words can describe the sense of vacuum and darkness that opens this chapter. It feels like the sun has gone out, the trees have withered and there is just dust. She already looks different and I can see that her essence has gone. I pray that her energy has popped out in some precocious newborn somewhere on the planet. We leave the room so that the nurses can prepare mum for the doctor who will pronounce her dead.

 

The corridor outside the Dryden ward is quiet and we sit in silence on a row of chairs in shock. I am wrapped in a barbed wire of relief, numbness and guilt for wishing it to end. I wake from the depths and walk to a quiet corner to call Sue. As I tell the story I wish that she was here to hug like we used to when the storms once raged. She always looked after me in the darkest days and I realise how much I love her.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uzk27ZH53Fs&feature=player_embedded

The spirit was gone from her body
forever had always been inside
that shell had always been intertwined
and now we’re disintwined
it's hard to understand...

 

24 February 2013