The watch begins.
I went to see my mother on saturday. This wasn't something I was looking forward to, as the last time I saw her, this happened: http://wraithwitch.livejournal.com/471141.html
But since my father had demanded my presence in the UK specifically because all the signs said my mother was dying, I thought I was duty bound to see her whatever state she was in. (All the other grovs - even Zoe and Katie - have all visited in the last month to say provisional goodbyes; I was the last.)
There was no sobbing and howling this time, which made everything mildly less awful. My mother lay there like a broken stick-doll, eyes staring and limbs twitching fitfully, forehead sometimes creasing, teeth grinding, and fingers pulling compulsively at her own arms.
The strange thing was, the longer we stayed and talked, the more alert she became. My father spoke with her and said I was here. I talked to her, telling her about Hawai'i. A nurse came in to give her a drink, and by the time that had finished my mother was looking around, making a supreme effort to speak. My father left to confer with the nurses and I stayed along with K to speak to my mother some more. And guess what? We chatted. Yes, she spoke as if she'd had two successive strokes and I could only guess at what she was saying by the tone and by the sort of things she used to say before she was ill. But we talked. It wasn't just me pouring words into empty ears, there was attention and response. And she said my name twice - she hasn't said my name since before she left for Hailsham House.
I've heard it said that towards the end, people often have heightened lucidity. I hope that's what this is. No rallying at the last, no hanging on by the skin of her teeth. It's far passed time to let go.
I told my mother she didn't have to fight any more: that she should sleep so she can return to stardust and moonbeams. I hope she was listening.
But since my father had demanded my presence in the UK specifically because all the signs said my mother was dying, I thought I was duty bound to see her whatever state she was in. (All the other grovs - even Zoe and Katie - have all visited in the last month to say provisional goodbyes; I was the last.)
There was no sobbing and howling this time, which made everything mildly less awful. My mother lay there like a broken stick-doll, eyes staring and limbs twitching fitfully, forehead sometimes creasing, teeth grinding, and fingers pulling compulsively at her own arms.
The strange thing was, the longer we stayed and talked, the more alert she became. My father spoke with her and said I was here. I talked to her, telling her about Hawai'i. A nurse came in to give her a drink, and by the time that had finished my mother was looking around, making a supreme effort to speak. My father left to confer with the nurses and I stayed along with K to speak to my mother some more. And guess what? We chatted. Yes, she spoke as if she'd had two successive strokes and I could only guess at what she was saying by the tone and by the sort of things she used to say before she was ill. But we talked. It wasn't just me pouring words into empty ears, there was attention and response. And she said my name twice - she hasn't said my name since before she left for Hailsham House.
I've heard it said that towards the end, people often have heightened lucidity. I hope that's what this is. No rallying at the last, no hanging on by the skin of her teeth. It's far passed time to let go.
I told my mother she didn't have to fight any more: that she should sleep so she can return to stardust and moonbeams. I hope she was listening.