This is the photo of me, taken in 1969, that my dear Mum had in her bedroom when she died.
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?
(St Pauls first letter to the Corinthians, 15: 55 KJV)
Saturday, 13th November 2021. About midday.
Hospital tea has a particular taste; weak and plasticky. It reminds of Army Tea (which was strong enough to require capitalisation) that I drank as a schoolboy cadet and also had a distinctive flavour. Milky tea that came out of an urn into green plastic pint mugs to which I added six spoonfuls of sugar. A nurse brought a mug of tea for me in a rather nice plastic mug, shaped like a proper mug and made to look like china. So much better than those wispy white plastic beakers that come in a stack. The tea is warm and wet, the kindness with which it is offered gives me strength.
I am in Pitton Ward of Salisbury District Hospital at my mother’s bedside and I think that she is in the last hours of her life. She has fallen into a deep sleep and has not been awake while I have been here. I do not know if she knows I am here. Yesterday she was awake and telling my sister how she would be getting home. She would have confronted and overcome any obstacle with characteristic courage and determination. She ticked them off on her fingers, each impediment to her return home dealt with in turn.
When I got here this morning, the first time I have seen her since the fall on Wednesday night that got her admitted, the reading light was on, shining brightly down on her upturned face. She still had her glasses on and the nose-piece had pressed down into her eye sockets. I turned off the harsh light and removed her glasses. I tried to speak to her, gently reassuring her that it was me and that I was beside her. I don’t know what else to say.
Saturday afternoon. One-thirty.
One of the hospital chaplains, Clifford, came round. We said the Lord’s Prayer and he blessed her. Then I said the Rosary. I asked Our Lady to join my prayers to Mum’s and to any thoughts and feelings she was having. I watch her eyes flickering beneath her eyelids. She is dreaming. Each breath she takes made her head jerk back slightly. Her mouth is open in the oxygen mask. She is so tiny and frail that the bedclothes seem flat as if she has no body below what I can see of her on the pillows. It is as if most of her has gone already.
I invoked Michael Archangel to protect her and guard her as she leaves this world. Mum hates change. She has been terribly fearful of this time. The time of translation. When who she is physically is translated into who she always has been and always will be.
She can longer eat or drink anything. She has taken her last meal. I ask Raphael Archangel to heal and comfort her as her soul leaves her body.
A doctor comes round to see her and tests her level of alertness. He is West African. He is kind and competent. He knows what he is about, confident in what he says and does. Mum shows no sign at all that she is aware of him. He is someone about whom she would say, “The Doctor had an accent. I could barely understand him.” Mum never got the idea that other people, people whose appearance, tone of voice, accent or culture are obviously different to ours, are truly the same as us. I know that Mum, if she thinks that she is in the care of people who she thinks of as other people will feel even more lonely and vulnerable. I speak to her gently and stroke her soft hair. I reassure her that I am with her and beside her. I do not think she is anywhere near consciousness now. Her eyelids are still. Her breathing is even shallower. She is deeply asleep. I leave her and think that I will return later.
Saturday evening.
My sister telephones to say that Mum is now in palliative care and that the staff have withdrawn all the treatment: the anti-biotics and the diuretic. I try to get one of the hospital chaplains on the phone so that someone can pray over her. There is no answer. I will go in to see her in the morning. Later, my sister rings to say that Mum has died. So I return to the hospital having spoken to the Staff Nurse and asked her to hold the body on the ward until I get there.
When I get to the ward I have to wait until the staff are free to speak to me. I can see that the curtains are drawn around Mum’s bed. The nurses are very kind and gentle with me, leading me in to see her. Explaining what they have done and what still needs to be done. They have washed her and made her bed around her. In death she looks more peaceful. No more struggling to breathe. I pray over her with my hand on her forehead.
Go forth, O Christian soul, out of this world,
In the name of God the Father almighty, who created you;
In the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God, who suffered for you;
In the name of the Holy Spirit, who sanctified you;
In the name of the holy and glorious Mary, Virgin and Mother of God;
In the name of the Angels, Archangels, Thrones and Dominions, Cherubim and Seraphim;
in the name of the Patriarchs and Prophets, of the holy Apostles and evangelists, of the holy Martyrs, Confessors, Monks and Hermits, of the holy Virgins and of all the Saints of God.
May your place be this day in peace, through Christ our Lord.
Amen
Mighty wings beat about us, silent, invisible and impossibly powerful. They are with us, beings that can span the whole world are here to shepherd this one frail soul on her way to God. I shut my eyes as I feel them envelop us in warmth and protection. Then it is gone. The spiritual connection I felt so strongly this afternoon goes off like a light.
The lady in the next bed is reading her paper. I can hear the pages being turned and straightened. Poor thing, she must be able to hear everything I’m saying. I bet she thinks I’m crackers. In the past, I have been on a ward when the person in the next bed dies. You feel your own mortality very acutely.
O merciful and gracious God.
O God, according to your many mercies you blot out the sins of those who repent. You graciously forgive the guilt of their past offences. Mercifully look upon this your servant Anne.
Grant her a full freedom from all her sins. For with a sorrowful heart she most earnestly begs it of you.
Renew, O merciful Father, whatever has been wrought in her by human weakness, or by the frauds and deceits of the enemy. Associate her as a member of redemption to the unity of the Body of the Church. Have mercy, Lord, on her sighs. Have mercy on her tears. Admit her to the Sacrament of your forgiveness, for she has no hope but in your mercy: through Christ our Lord.
Amen
Amen. Amen. Amen.
Mum got very frail in the last six months and was in fact in some discomfort most of the time. The loss of feeling in her hands was hugely frustrating for her as it limited what she could do. She was determined to get home and I am very glad that she can now put all that physical struggle behind her and start her journey towards God.
I will miss her so much and I will miss our routines of being together on Sundays, of buying her little gifts when I’m out shopping and saving up little bits of news that I know will delight her.
Death doesn’t stop you loving someone, does it?
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is
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