Sometimes I just feel I need to write to get stuff out of my head and onto paper, it’s my way of processing things. I’m not a big talker but writing can be cathartic even if no-one is listening.
On Tuesday 16th August I got 5 missed calls from my mum. That in of itself was not unusual, I keep my phone on vibrate so I don’t get interrupted when I’m on work calls. Sometimes it would be something like a technical issue with her TV or phone or to transfer money to my sister for her.
I hadn’t seen her that weekend just gone, which was unusual for me, I normally try to see her once a week but to be honest I was feeling quite down and I knew my brother was taking her to Blackpool on Saturday so I thought I’d give herself, or more honestly, myself, a break.
When I saw the missed calls I rang her back and this time was different. It wasn’t something I could just fix for her. She told me my aunty was dying. I could hardly speak, the words just wouldn’t come out. I tried to hold back the tears and be strong for her. It just came out of nowhere.
I knew my aunty was in hospital. She caught covid but I just assumed she would get better. I mean, this was Mary, the strong one that was always looking after other people. I just couldn’t take it in at all.
My mum explained that she had perforated her bowel, which needed urgent surgical intervention but because her lungs were very weak with covid and COPD, they didn’t think she would survive the surgery so were refusing to operate.
Later that night I wrote a text message to her. We very rarely exchanged text messages but I wanted her to know that I loved her and how grateful I was for everything she had done for our family over my lifetime. I didn’t know whether she was still conscious or not or whether she would ever see the message.
I was torn down the middle, part of me wanted to go and see her but part of me felt like that would be selfish because I’d be getting in the way of her kids. No matter how upset I was, this was a million times worse for her kids to lose their mum and for her husband, my uncle to lose the love of his wife, they had been together for 50 years and married for 47.
In the end I decided I had to be there for her, not just for my sake but for my mum, who was very close to Mary. I didn’t know what to expect or what I was going to see. I can’t remember whether it was was the Thursday or Friday, it was all such a blur. Time ceased to be meaningful but I picked mum up and we went to the hospital together.
The good thing was she was in her own side room, not in a bed on an open ward so we had a degree of privacy. She was sat up and talking, no oxygen mask or tubes. I couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t treat her when it seemed to me like she’d have had a good chance. Her breathing wasn’t laboured, I’d seem mum in worse states breathing wise.
The first thing I remember her saying was that “I stink of piss, don’t I”. She didn’t. She still had her sense of humour and no matter what she was thinking inside, she almost seemed upbeat. She acknowledged my message to her, which my mum had read out to her at some point. She said it was very nice. I did feel a sense of relief knowing that she had read my message, I tried to fight back the tears again but couldn’t speak but did eventually manage to tell her I loved her.
My aunty Gel was there, my cousin’s were there. I gave them all big hugs. I didn’t have any words that could sooth them, all I could do is be there and acknowledge their pain.
One of the most heart breaking things was seeing my cousins Liam and Eoin struggling to hold back their own tears. Liam is a Royal Marine, a big tough strong stoic young man and Eoin is about to start medical school and working as a carer. Hearing Liam trying to tell his Aunty he loved her and saying goodbye was really tough. They had a very strong bond. She did with all her nieces, nephews, children and grandchildren. She was the heart of the family.
I was also so proud of my cousin’s Vikki, Katie and Lil. Vikki herself is going through a very difficult time but she was so incredibly brave and strong for her mum. She will make an excellent nurse one day when she’s ready. She had made this beautiful poster our of a pillow case that all Mary’s kids and grandkids had signed so Mary could see that the whole time instead of just a toilet door. They all kept so strong and positive for their mum, sharing memories, talking, playing music on their phones that Mary liked.
They hardly ever left her side and they must have been exhausted. They never made me feel like I was getting in the way and I would have totally understood if they wanted to just be alone with their mum and dad.
I tried to make myself as useful as possible. I would go grab the nurse when my Aunty needed more morphine or anti-sickness medication. I went to gather chairs as there were so many people in that little room and the concrete floors are very unforgiving on the knees and you feel awkward just standing there. In reality there was very little I could do practically to help. I just wish I had magic powers to be able to take away her pain and fix her bowels. it’s a very helpless feeling, so I just did what I could, knowing it was completely inadequate.
My aunty was nil by mouth. Eating or drinking caused more pain as her bowel was blocked and there was nowhere for it to go. She had some kind of gel that helped with her mouth getting dry and she’d also swill drinks to wet her mouth then spit it out.
I found it very hard to eat that first day after visiting her. Just the thought that my aunty had already eaten her last meal and drank her last drink, I ate a sandwich but it just felt wrong to be eating when she couldn’t. There was a subway inside the hospital, that was about it in terms of food other than vending machines but just the smell of it was nauseating to me.
I don’t know how long we were on the ward with her that first day, all sense of time and chronology just stopped. I felt very guilty dropping my mum off home and leaving her alone that first night and every time we visited, we didn’t know if it was going to be the last time.
It’s horrible and you feel so many conflicting emotions. Part of you wants to spend as much time as possible with that person you love, you want to be there for them but another part of you hates to see them suffering and just wants it over so they are no longer in discomfort.
During the time we were there, many people came to see Mary. Not just family but friends from the past who had worked with her or been trained with her. One lady told us horrific stories of her fight for custody of her kids and how Mary supported her through it all. Another lady whose relative had been murdered gave Mary’s kids a necklace that Mary had given her in her time of grief. My aunty touched quite a lot of hearts. She was a good person.
It was therapeutic to hear the stories, particularly as Mary was still with it and conscious most of the time. She had periods of rest but she was never alone. The nursing staff were great, she was allowed visitors all the time and there were no restrictions on numbers.
My uncle was so incredibly brave. He is not a well man himself, having recovered from heart surgery in the last few years. He couldn’t walk so the kids had to push him around in a hospital wheelchair. There were times when he just had to get out of that room and take a breather. He couldn’t bare just sitting there and watching the love of his life dying but despite the pain he was incredibly courageous. He stayed with her through the nights, the hospital gave them a camp bed when they realised, and I brought in some extra sleeping bags, quilts and pillows just to try to make it a little bit more comfortable for them.
Wythenshawe Hospital is a good hospital but there aren’t a great deal of facilities. At the weekend the subway was closed and there wasn’t really anywhere to get something to eat. Lots of takeaways wouldn’t deliver to the hospital either so you had to go off site to get food, which wasn’t ideal as it was paid parking too, although the machine stopped working so we got free parking for most of that weekend.
Mary was finding comfort from sucking on ice cubes, which we were getting from the subway. The nurses also gave her some ice from her own fridge but mum also brought some calypo ice lollies she got from home and she really seemed to enjoy those, she was actually swallowing them. She was puking up small quantities of the contents of her bowels, which must have been really unpleasant for her and I think the orange and lime flavoured ice lollies took away some of that taste.
I’m glad Mary got to go surrounded by loved ones and I’m glad we got chance to say our goodbyes, not everybody gets that but at the same time it wasn’t a pleasant way to go. I hate the thought of dying in a hospital and she was offered to be moved at home but she wouldn’t have had the same access to pain relief and it would have been harder to have all her family around her and she always put her families needs ahead of her own.
At one point she sat up on her bed, despite it clearly being very painful for her to do so, so she could get as close to her daughter Katie, who is wheelchair bound, just so that she could give her a hug.
When she wasn’t quite so weak, she was still asking us if we had enough to drink. She was never thinking about herself, her last words to me were to look after my mum. It was only really on the Sunday that she spent sleeping, even as she got weaker and found it harder to talk, her mind was still fully with it and remembering things from the past.
I got a bit frustrated with my mum as we’d be there for a couple of hours then mum would ask me to take her home. There was a little part of me that felt could you not just do this for your sister given everything she has done for you. I know it’s hard. I know it’s painful but every time we leave, this might be the last time.
One time I did actually say no to her, especially on that Sunday night. Mum was falling asleep, but we were all tired, all both physically and mentally exhausted, I didn’t want to leave but my uncle Brian saw she was falling asleep and asked me to take her home, so I did but I made sure she said goodbye to Mary just in case.
I dropped her off home, then I went to go get something to eat for everyone. The night before, they had tried to order some KFC but it was after 10pm so KFC wouldn’t deliver so I decided I’d get a KFC bucket so that at least they had food at the hospital.
I wasn’t sure whether my uncle would have wanted the smell of the food in the room, so I left it in the car and went back up. By this time they had dimmed the lights and the mood was different. Brian was holding her hand on one side and Katie, Lil and Vikki were on the other side, almost forming a ring around her. My aunty Gel was there too, as was Dominic.
She had a few photo frames on the bottom of her bed, one of her parents, one of Mark, the first baby they lost and another of baby Bernadette. My uncle was playing songs from youtube on her mobile and talking to her, giving her permission to let go. Her breathing was very shallow and she looked peaceful. Her eyes had rolled back and I found that very upsetting but I think she could still hear us. I lost the ability to speak. In my head I just wanted to tell her how much we all loved her and that she didn’t need to worry, we would all look after each other but the words just wouldn’t come out.
The last two songs played were “Where do you go to my lovely” by Peter Sarstedt then “When I need you” by Leo Sayer, two beautiful songs. By my phone it was 23:02, her breathing had been getting more and more shallow then it just stopped. At that point I burst into tears and I wasn’t the only one.
I had all but forgotten about the food in the car, it didn’t really seem to matter anymore. I went out to ring mum and let her know and I let my brother and sister know too. Brian was worried about people finding out through facebook, he was ringing family that night and would ring friends in the morning so I made sure my brother and sister knew not to post anything until Brian had.
I went to pick up mum and bring her back. It seemed like quite a while waiting for the doctors to confirm her passing. Poor Lil, who had been so amazingly strong for her mum found it really hard. She was going to help clean and dress her mum but it was too much. You want to remember people for who they were when they were live, happy and full of life, not the end of their life.
I couldn’t leave my mum to be alone that night, I went back with her and slept on the couch but about 0230 in the morning my aunty Gel, Lil and Katie turned up at the door. My aunty was going to stay with them at their flat because they didn’t want to be alone, understandably. They were going to get a taxi from the hospital because my cousin Katie needs wheelchair accessible transport but none was available and they ended up walking to my mums, just under 2 miles away.
My aunty insisted she didn’t want a fuss, she didn’t want an expensive funeral, just a cremation. She would rather we spent the money on having a good time in her honour.
It makes me sad that there’s only my mum and my aunty Gel left now from the six sisters. It also brings with it that after they pass it will be my generation next and I won’t have a room full of children and grandchildren to remember me, my line ends with me.
To be honest, I’ve come to accept that this is probably for the best. I wouldn’t have made a good dad, I have too many issues of my own to be responsible for another person. I will probably die on my own, and probably by my own choice. I don’t want the indignity and helplessness of old age.
Rant Over 