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Goodbye Mum - Rainbows and Tears of Angels

WEDNESDAY 11th NOVEMBER 2009

Just said goodbye to mum.
Now we're waiting for the undertakers to come and take her away.
We delayed calling them, giving us a chance to spend time with her.
Calling the undertaker started the clock ticking on the finality of this experience... they'll be here within the hour, and when they arrive, they'll take my mum away from the house, and she'll be gone... truly gone and I'll never see her again, never be able to hug her again, or kiss her gently on the forehead and stroke her hair like she loved so much.
I don't want them to come but at the same time I know they have to.
My sister is with her now, upstairs... lying on the bed beside her, one arm across the duvet covering her body.  I did the same, savouring the silence and the chance to be alone and share my thoughts and tears with her.  Her eyes are closed and she looks totally peaceful, but the chill has seeped into her bones and flesh now.  She died 7 hours ago.

I'm writing these words because I have nowhere else to put them, and because I need to get them down, I need to capture this experience and then leave it.  I want to focus on memories of who my mum was for majority of her life, and not dwell on what the illness did to her.  

Time has ceased to have meaning right now.

I've not slept since...

Surreal to think it's Wednesday.

I had the phone call from my sister last Wednesday.

I came up to Newcastle last Thursday.

I had the shock and horror of seeing how much mum had deteriorated in three weeks since my last visit; and yet, despite her frailty she stayed up late so that she could see me when I arrived home after the night flight there... she was exhausted, barely able to say much, and acutely aware of the shock and sadness on my face, "See you tomorrow...if I wake up," she said and kissed me.

Since then it's been a rapid downward descent.

I’ve watched my mum starve to death and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

All I could do was give her water when she was conscious, using these foam squares on sticks that look like lollies... dip them in a glass of water hold it to mum's mouth, sometimes she was too weak to open her mouth enough, so I'd rub the sponge against her lips, or squeeze it between my fingers to get a few drops of moisture onto her tongue.

EDIT: I've just deleted a big chunk of text.

Too much detail. Too harrowing.

Moving on...

Some lovely moments.

Mum was too weak to sit up so I'd lean over the bed and scoop her up in my arms, to either prop her up against a mound of pillows, or allow her to sit on the edge of the bed, between my sister and I.  She was impossibly light, and I could feel the shape of her ribcage and hips through the soft fabric of her pink pyjamas.  

One time I did this she held onto me really tight, trembling, and sank her head into the crook of my neck and moaned with comfort.

We were able to share a few of those moments, sitting together, on the edge of her bed, gazing out of the window, overlooking the dense forest of the Dene.  Mum's ability to speak, even during lucid moments, became really tough for her... but one of these times, when we three were sat side by side, her hands in our hands, her head bobbed up and down with the effort and she said, "Thank you."

Thank you for being here with her.

Another time, I was curled up beside her on the bed, propping myself up an elbow, stroking her hair; her lips moved and a whisper sound came out, I brought my head closer and she told me, "Good boy.  Be a good boy."

Tuesday she was too weak to shuffle-walk between the bed and her chair, so my sister and I had a draining day lifting her up, sitting her up, lying her down or turning her, whenever she asked for it... sometimes this happened several times in the space of an hour...

On top of the lack of sleep, it created a manic tension to the experience. We wanted to do anything and everything she asked so she was happy.  

Mid-afternoon on Tuesday, we'd just lain her down; my sister was sat on the bed, leaning forward, I was kneeling on a pillow, in the narrow gap between the wall and the bed, leaning forward. Mum was drifting out of consciousness then abruptly opened her eyes and looked at both of us in wonder, "Are you really here?" she asked, amazed.

Yes mum, we're really here. We replied.

That blissful languid smile crept across the new proportions of her face, and she said in a clear voice, "Are you really.  That's beautiful.  My children.  Just as I wanted."

The last time I spoke to mum was sometime between 4 and 6pm.  I can't be certain. Everything is a blur.  She'd been sitting up, on the edge of the bed, between us, propped up by our arms and a great stack of pillows behind her, and she'd asked for more coffee.  I'd made her one earlier, luke warm and laced with sugar, and she'd taken several large sips of it, determined to swallow and [...removed...]

I joked, "was that good coffee?" and she actually licked her lips, narrowed her eyes like she used to with that wry sense of humour and said, "It's perfect."

After we laid her down she kept putting her hands to her eyes, as if she was trying to remove something covering them, or was uncertain of what she was seeing.

Then she raised a hand and pointed a solitary finger past our faces, and just held it there for a few moments.

"Home," she whispered, "I'm going home."

Then she changed.

Then end result was that around 6pm, she was lying there, on her back and breathing deeply and heavily. The kind of breath you might take before plunging underwater, or to hyperventilate, but mum did it over and over and over... hour after hour. Strong breathing.  Determined breathing.  A fighter.

By 2 A.M. I was getting freaked out by it.  She had not become conscious again and I sensed she never would.  

Only a small table lamp was on.

My sister had spent the entire night lying on the bed beside her, drifting in and out of sleep with exhaustion.  I sometimes lay on the floor by the base of the bed, or kneeled beside the bed and held her hands, or went downstairs and brewed a coffee...

Around 4 A.M. her breathing began to lose its strength; the fight was being lost.

Her breathing grew more quiet and gentle, but still as rapid.

It was a lulling soothing sound. We kept falling asleep and waking up every few minutes.

Mum waited until we'd all nodded off before she died.

I snapped awake, lying on a blanket on the floor, acutely aware of the silence.

It was 6.30 A.M.

In slow motion it seemed, I sat up, looked around, and saw mum lying there, utterly motionless.  My sister had stirred at the same moment.  I was on my feet.  I was beside my mum.  I dropped to my knees and just sobbed.

Everyone left the room, giving me space, time alone, I moved onto the bed and held her, kissed her warm forehead, rubbed my hands on the duvet...

I said all the things I'd been saying for days,
"I'll love you forever, for as long as the stars burn bright"
"Thank you for being an amazing mum"
"Thank you for being my best friend and coming to rescue me when I needed you most."
"You'll never be alone"
"We'll always remember you."

As I lay there, the dawn emerged beyond the window, and I said, "You just missed the sunrise."

Then I was downstairs, whilst my sister spent time alone with her.

Back upstairs and we all sat there, in silence, gazing at mum... it was like my vision had become telescopic, the rest of the world zoomed out of focus and significance and this one area zoomed into full blown view.

My mum, lying there, like something not quite real. A wax figure cast in one single pose and now lacking the variety of facial expressions and joy this woman could conjure.

She looked utterly peaceful.

She hadn't fought with fury or desperation, she did not suffer.

She fought with simple determination and dignity... the essence of her Will and Power.

She hadn’t eaten a meal in 2 months.  The doctors were stunned by her determination to live beyond their forecasts, time and again.

An amazing woman.

The sunrise turned golden, beams of divine light flooded the room, and at the same time it was raining, "The Angels are Crying," I said.

Later, after nurses had been round to verify the death, I went for a long walk through the Dene. The gaps between the trees were filled with early morning mist, burning fiery gold as the sunbeams slanted down into the ravine the Dene occupies.  It was stunning.  Sunbeams criss-crossed above the river like angled pillars of light holding up the heavens.

Then back home, upstairs, spending more time with mum.


EDIT: Later
The undertakers have just been.
They reversed the black van into the driveway and carried her downstairs on a covered stretcher. Then they got in and drove slowly away, all of us walking after it, pulling on coats, staring in disbelief and gut-wrenching realisation that this was it. She was gone.

We howled and cried and stood in the middle of the street watching that black van drive away.

Neighbours came out and comforted us.

We all went out for a long walk.  

My sister and NK went one way, Jo and I went another.  I wanted to go to Holly Avenue, I wanted to walk the street mum lived in during her first years living in England, after meeting my dad and getting married and moving here from Norway, before I was born.

As Jo and I walked, we spotted the most amazing rainbow, blasting up from the Dene and arching over the whole of Jesmond.  

It was my mum, going to heaven, I know it is true.

That rainbow hung across the sky for over half an hour; it seemed to be visible wherever we were.  

My sister rang and said there was a second rainbow, and so there was, much fainter... my dad, who died three years ago.

And then I saw something amazing.  Both rainbows were cast against grey-green cloud, dense, tall and heavy; on the far edges of this cloud bank was blue sky, sunlight and white fluffy clouds... and there, in the curving column of rainbow colour, I saw a dozen white shapes, pure white, with wings, circling around, slowly and gracefully, higher and higher. They were just birds, I know, but my God, what a sign.  It filled me with immense hope and happiness.

"GOODBYE MUM," I called out, "I LOVE YOU."

And then it rained, but it was like snow, tiny specks of moisture that barely made us wet, glistening and scintillating in the amazing amber light that was bathing Jesmond all morning and afternoon. It was the strangest and yet most beautiful rain I've ever seen.