Love till the end. . .

THOSE THAT ARE TAKEN FOR GRANTED
by
Jan Harrison-Brown
" The phone!"
My husband ran down stairs to see who was ringing at this unearthly
hour. I listened to his muffled voice. A conversation which as I was
soon to find out would change the rest of my life.
"It's your Father, he sounds dreadful."
Grabbing my robe I hurried to the phone.
"It's yer Mum..." Dad paused, his breathing erratic... "Taken to
hospital."
His bronchitis sounded terrible.
"Oh, Dad. try not to fret, we'll be straight over."
With the tactics of a military manoeuvre. I slung a hand full of
children's clothes into a rucksack and armed with two sleeping angels
we tackled the journey.
Half an hour later, the children were still huddled together on the
back seat, unaware of their temporary habitat.
"I'll see to the kids," Hubby said. "You see to your Dad."
I hurdled the stairs in twos. Concern written across my face.
Still with his oxygen mask on, "Thank God your here," he wheezed
I was brought up in a formal Victorian household were feelings where
never discussed or shown. But in those early hours, as I sat on the
edge of his bed, we held each other tightly.
I became unnerved and couldn't settle.
"You try and get some rest Dad. I'll ring and see how Mum is."
I tried to break away from his embrace, but I could tell he didn't
want to let me go. Perhaps a fear of what he might be told.
He had been very poorly himself and maybe, taken Mum a little to much
for granted, as she met his every demand. Mum loved him that was shown
in all that she did.
However, it wasn't just Dad who was guilty, of not noticing the strain
she'd been under. Everyone focused on Dads illness, and didn't see Mum
struggling.
"Your mother's had an enormous heart attack," the duty nurse said. I
listened with anticipation as she continued, "She's stable now."
"Thank god," I sighed. Relief filtering through my lungs.
"However..." she continued, "with rest, I'm sure she could
recover."
Even now after all these years I still remember it was music to my
ears.
"You can visit after the doctors have examined her."
No one spoke as we travelled to the hospital.
"Have you got the ward number?" Dad asked. A pathetic excuse to break
the deafening silence.
"Yes Dad." I put my hand through the gap between the front seats of the
car. He touched my hand for reassurance. I think; he was quietly hoping
she'd be coming home with us.
"Now you two," I said to the children, "I'm going to see Granny. Be
good. Stay with Daddy and look after Granddad for me."
I knew it would take Dad an age to walk along the endless corridors. So
as planned, I went on ahead. I walked towards the intensive care unit
but I wasn't getting any nearer. Have you ever had that dream? Where...
it doesn't matter how much you try, your journey just doesn't come to
an end?
As soon as I saw the nurse, I knew something was wrong. She couldn't
look me in the eye. Her face was telling me things were bad. Really
bad. I suddenly felt very sick and dizzy. She'd said on the phone Mum
would be all right. We all hoped, prayed that she would be.
I felt like, I was a record being played at the wrong speed. I tried to
speak, my lips moved, the words blurted out. But they were distorted
and strange. Her voice, was deep, echoed and somewhere far away.
Everything was still in slow motion as she said "I'm...
v...e...r...y..., v...e...r...y... s...o...r...r...y."
Everything was going dark around me. I could feel myself swaying. She
went to catch me as I fell against the wall. My own heart pumped,
pounded, yelled out for it not to be true. My Mother - just couldn't be
dead!
Then with the click of a finger my senses returned. Sharper than they
had ever been before. The sounds of equipment bleeping. Nurses
chattering on the phone The light. Her voice. I put my trembling hand
to my face it was numb as if the dentist had filled every tooth.
"She's had another massive attack. We tried to ring you."
She sat me down and went to fetch a glass of water.
I stared at the drawn curtains. That must be where Mums body is? I
thought.
How was I going to tell my Dad? He'd made such an effort to get ready
and come. How was I going to tell the kids? Granny wouldn't be coming
home after all?
It was a nightmare - that was it! I'll wake up soon I thought, glaring
down at the red blotches where I'd pinched myself.
But it was happening... It was true... She really had passed
away.
I was sobbing uncontrollably when the nurse came back.
She forced a weak smile, "Do you want to see her?"
Next thing I remember I was looking down at the woman who had bought me
into the world. Taught me the difference between right and wrong.
Laughed, when I'd done something daft and nursed me when I'd been
ill.
I'd never seen anyone as still as she was. I wanted to shake her - to
make sure that she wasn't just sleeping. I looked at the nurse. I
wanted her to tell me she was going to be
alright. But her face was solemn.
Mum was at peace with the world.

I couldn't help but notice how tired she looked. How very old she had
suddenly become. She'd aged and I hadn't noticed.
"I'm going to miss you Mum." I whispered. Knowing she couldn't hear me
or feel me holding her hand. Nor see the tears pouring from my now red
rimmed eyes.
Neither did she see Dad's face, when I broke the news to him. He was
devastated. He usually stood six feet tall, but that Easter Sunday he
was bent double. The pain tearing him apart... Severing every
limb.
I was proud of the children. How they took the news.
I heard my son tell his little sister. "Granny isn't coming for tea
today she's going to heaven." Pure innocence, children seem to accept
things like that.
The following week I found myself at the crematorium. The service was
lovely. Well! So I was told. I seemed to have blanked out so much of
it. Only small pockets of memory are left. They say time is a great
healer. I recall coming out of the double doors after the service and
seeing flowers everywhere. Faces looking on at us, friends and
neighbours nodding tearfully with acknowledgement. Relations I hadn't
seen for years. Many I couldn't even put a name too.
Dad - he was so brave. I watched him comfort my eldest sister and
niece. I also saw him as he tried so hard to mingle amongst the
congregation.
It's funny how people say such silly things at funerals!
"It must have been a terrible shock."
"So unexpected."
"I'm sure she will be missed by every one."
He wasn't really listening though - just trying to get through the day
the best way he could.
The back bone of the family was gone.
The following three years were traumatic for Dad. He never did get over
losing her. The sitting room turned into a shrine. Being with the same
person for 42 years, you
don't forget them - not just like that.
I like to think Mums death brought the family closer together. I had
learnt that on the
suddenness of losing her, there were many things I wanted to ask and
say, but I was deprived of that opportunity.
I was so thankful for having those precious talks with Dad. His years
had made him very knowledgeable. However, we had what you might call
heated debates over some issues. Even so, I appreciated his very
existence and what he had done for me and my growing family.
His own illness started to take hold. As each month passed he became
more withdrawn. He knew he was dying and I tried to make his last few
weeks as comfortable as I could.
The doctors came and went. Visits to the hospital for more treatment,
were a constant challenge.
Finally - lung cancer took him...
People believe I'm uncaring when I say, "I'm glad he's gone!"
In the end he had no quality of life. Waiting for an occasional phone
call. His nightly visit from me. The Weekly free paper. I saw through
his charm and smile. The desperation in his face when it was time for
us to leave and he'd be on his own; Yet again.
He didn't want to be here with us. He wanted to be where Mum was. He
wanted to be with the lady he'd loved from the moment he saw her
looking up from her hymn book all those years ago...