![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Mum, local area update
Jul. 25th, 2007 04:23 pmI'm away from the hospital for a few hours and checking my mail on the Lisburn library system.
What with travel and staying in the ward with Mum, I haven't slept in an actual bed since Thursday night last, I've been riding an emotional rollercoaster the whole time, and I feel like... Well, enough said. Renal failure will carry her off, but gradually enough that we can't continue the traditional "sitting at the bedside" routine, despite having done so for the past week. We must get home and back to work.
We said our goodbyes during a lucid (and I have to admit splendidly dramatic, leave it to Mum) deathbed scene on Sunday night last. Her Rector was in, and since Mum has, in my sister's words, "a strong faith", the presence of comforting dog-collared religion caused her to call for me, say her goodbyes, have me take off the little cross on a chain which she's worn since my Dad died in 1980 so she could give it to my sister (who has been an absolute hero throughout, much more so than me), and be called home.
And then she rallied. The spirit was willing, but the flesh, having taken everything life could throw at it for 90 years, wasn't anything like weak enough. So Mum's still here, fading away gently like the white dot on a 1960's TV. The vast number of loved ones, friends, relatives and acquaintances on the Other Side are complaining that the champagne's getting flat, the ice in the punch is melting and the party squeakers have gone floppy...
At least she's so zonked on various morphine derivatives that she feels no more than mild discomfort. It also means that when Diane and I go home tomorrow morning, she may not even remember that we were there. If she hangs on (as she might) until next week, we might get the chance to visit again, but otherwise I am not looking forward to walking out of that hospital room, because it will probably be the last time I see my Mum alive.
Humour to melancholy in three paragraphs. Rollercoaster, as I said. :-/
To everyone who sent cards; many provoked a "who's that from?" response from most of the family, but were each and every one of them a great comfort to Diane and myself. Thank you all so very much.
P.
What with travel and staying in the ward with Mum, I haven't slept in an actual bed since Thursday night last, I've been riding an emotional rollercoaster the whole time, and I feel like... Well, enough said. Renal failure will carry her off, but gradually enough that we can't continue the traditional "sitting at the bedside" routine, despite having done so for the past week. We must get home and back to work.
We said our goodbyes during a lucid (and I have to admit splendidly dramatic, leave it to Mum) deathbed scene on Sunday night last. Her Rector was in, and since Mum has, in my sister's words, "a strong faith", the presence of comforting dog-collared religion caused her to call for me, say her goodbyes, have me take off the little cross on a chain which she's worn since my Dad died in 1980 so she could give it to my sister (who has been an absolute hero throughout, much more so than me), and be called home.
And then she rallied. The spirit was willing, but the flesh, having taken everything life could throw at it for 90 years, wasn't anything like weak enough. So Mum's still here, fading away gently like the white dot on a 1960's TV. The vast number of loved ones, friends, relatives and acquaintances on the Other Side are complaining that the champagne's getting flat, the ice in the punch is melting and the party squeakers have gone floppy...
At least she's so zonked on various morphine derivatives that she feels no more than mild discomfort. It also means that when Diane and I go home tomorrow morning, she may not even remember that we were there. If she hangs on (as she might) until next week, we might get the chance to visit again, but otherwise I am not looking forward to walking out of that hospital room, because it will probably be the last time I see my Mum alive.
Humour to melancholy in three paragraphs. Rollercoaster, as I said. :-/
To everyone who sent cards; many provoked a "who's that from?" response from most of the family, but were each and every one of them a great comfort to Diane and myself. Thank you all so very much.
P.
