My father died in the early hours of the morning… The ward telephoned around 6am and asked me to go in. They didn’t say he was already dead, and I didn’t ask, I just got dressed quickly and drove to the hospital. He had died in the night, lying next to Mum. I had been telling them for days, that if they put him in the same room as Mum, he would let go, and that had happened – just 12 hours after they were put in the same room. It’s funny because a week before he had told me quite clearly “I will die next Wednesday”… and he was almost right. He died very early in the morning, on the Thursday… It does make me wonder, about our choice, in the end, over our time of death. He was miserable without Mum, but hadn’t lost hope of being with her, and, finally able to relax by her side, he let go. He was younger than Mum, by a couple of years, but had always looked after her, always been there for her. And yet… It was somehow fitting that he should die first, and I didn’t mind in the slightest that I wasn’t with him. It was right that he was with Mum and with Mum alone.
I was nervous when I walked into the room, not knowing how Mum was, not knowing what to expect; I’d never seen a dead body before, and this was my beloved Dad… Mum seemed ok, all things considered, and I went round to Dad to kiss him. The nurse brought me a cup of tea – I felt guilty because Mum couldn’t have one, of course – but was very grateful to her for doing that. It had been cold outside, and I hadn’t had chance to have anything, and I didn’t want to start shaking.
So, while the ward slowly started to wake up, I sat with Mum and Dad’s body, and we chatted for a couple of hours. You know… They were always, always together, and it was strange for me to just have a conversation with Mum, and not both of them. I asked her to tell me about when they first met, and this time, instead of half listening, I gave her my full attention. I cherished every detail, and pictured it all in my head… The 1950s clothes, the dancing, my charismatic, confident father, my Mum shyly accepting his request to dance…
A little later they moved Mum back into her original room, which was next door. I stayed with my Dad for a few minutes, saying goodbye to him. I took a photo of him, because I knew I would want proof that he was really gone; I look at that photo often, and it comforts me, in a strange sort of way.
Mum was counselled by the Macmillan Doctor, who wanted to delay removing Mum’s nasa-gastric tube, which had been planned for that morning. She thought it was too traumatic a day to go ahead with something like that. However, Mum was adamant she wanted to go ahead with the plan, that Dad’s death had only made her more keen to take that step.
So, a little while later, Mum’s favourite nurse came in to remove the tube which was keeping her alive. I was in awe of her…. My mother, tiny, with no voice above a whisper, greeted her cheerily, and sat bolt upright determined and calm while the nurse removed the tube. Mum had never believed in euthanasia, whereas I do… She was a strong believer in God’s will, and you could argue that in requesting the tube to be removed, she was hastening her own death. However, my view, and her view, was that the tube was keeping her alive unnaturally. While Dad was alive, and while he needed her, she would have done anything to stay alive. Once she knew it was hopeless, that he was dying, she had agreed to have it removed so they could spend their last few days together in a hospice. As it was, of course, Dad never got to leave the hospital, and Mum wanted to be with him.
It was incredibly hard for me… I’ve a fear of having such a tube inserted – Mum has always been brave in terms of hospital tests and procedures. However, this was completely different. Having just found out that my father had died, I knew that as soon as the tube was removed, my mother, too, would start to die. I had been told she would simply “fade away”, within a few days. So yes… Sitting there watching the nurse, I knew that in just a few days, my mother would die as well. The 4th December was the day my Dad died, and the day that I knew, without a doubt, that very soon my Mum was going to follow him.
“If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.”
― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights