My Mum passed away the year before last, late November 2011. It wasn't a sudden death by any stretch of the imagination, as she had been quite ill, (Type II diabetes plus a seemingly never ending series of complications - medical ed) for at least six years, prior to her eventual passing.
Mum had had a number of close calls over the years, with many a journey to the RUH (Royal United Hospital) in Bath by ambulance. If she had been getting a stamp on her NHS card for each journey, she would have easily got a couple of free trips. (For my Alaskan reader, we don't pay directly for our National Health Service, but indirectly so it is free at the point of use - economics ed).
The day that she went into hospital, for what turned in retrospect to be the final time, I had turned up at Mum & Dad's house to find my Dad heading out of the door as I arrived. It was a prearranged visit, but obviously Dad had forgotten that I was due in the rush. However, given that Mum wasn't there, we ended up driving to the RUH together and entering the A&E Department (Accident and Emergency - medical ed) to find out what was happening with Mum.
On her many previous forays into the RUH I had never been there at her entry to A&E. I know that I was more than little worried by it all, however, it was by no means Dad's first time and he seemed to be taking it all in his stride and calmly, certainly on the surface at least; I did my level best to follow suit (stiff upper lip and all that, after all we are British - ed).
Thankfully Mum had been successfully admitted (meaning she wasn't on a trolley in a corridor - ed) and was now surrounded by both staff and a mass of electronic equipment to which she was attached (it was kind of odd, in a way, as she hated cables and wires - ed ). Luckily for us, she was aware enough to know that we were there, but all we could give her at that time was support in the form of our presence and a brief hand clasp. So, after those brief moments with her, we left her in the hands of the staff, to allow them to do their jobs and we moved to some seats a short distance away.
From my perspective being in A&E brought me into contact with the highest concentration of doctors and nurses I can remember (have you forgotten about that party back in the early 80's? - entertainments ed). Not sure that humour is the best medicine but it does sometimes help.
After what seemed like an eternity, but it wasn't, the immediate danger passed and Mum was moved up onto a coronary care ward in a high dependency bed. She was there until her death less than a week later. The last time I saw her alive, was the night before she passed away.
Now, not sure about you, but it was the closest I had been to anyone who had died. My Mum & Dad's parents had all passed away long ago, and it wouldn't be unfair to say that I was not involved very much with their final days. So when I use the word closest, I am not talking about physically, but it was my Mum, I had known her my entire life and I loved her, so that kind of close.
Being a chap, especially an British one, it has been a bit of an eye (emotion?) opener for me to see how I have dealt with all of this. Not particularly well, would be my open and honest view. As I said this was not an easy post to write, but hang in there with me, I am getting to the grist of it.
Now, I have read all of the Harry Potter books and seen all of the films, so what? There is a scene at the start of the term after Harry has seen Cedric Diggory killed by Lord Voldemort. He is heading from the Hogwarts Express to the carts, which he had thought until then were powered by invisible magic means. What he saw instead were the animals that were really pulling the carts, Thestrals.
Harry was stopped in his tracks and became very confused especially when his friends Hermione and Ron could not see the Thestrals at all. Then Luna Lovegood passes by and tells him that they can only be seen by those who have witnessed death. So his closest friends just don't see it at all, they cannot see what he can see, they simply cannot understand what he is on about when he tells them about the Thestrals, they are simply blind to it all.
That is it, our mental state alters, from a before, when your loved one is alive, to a new state, a state where one you loved is no longer there. It is so mind numbingly final, dead and gone but not forgotten.
Here is another stab at explaining it. So bear with me, it might be worth the effort.
Imagine this, you are walking down your local high street and there are all these people walking, talking, laughing, getting on with their lives, and they simply have no inkling, no thought, no idea whatsoever that your Mum is dead, how can they be so callous. You rage on the inside and want to shout at them,
"How can you be so hurtful, so unconcerned, so thoughtless, don't you realise that my Mum is dead!",
But you don't shout at them, you just push the grief (for that is what it is - medical ed), a raw, black, bilious feeling, back down deep inside of you, that stiff upper lip must not buckle. However, I am frequently told (you know I'm right and keep taking the pills - medical ed) that you should let it out, it will get better, this is normal, you have to grieve, keeping it all in will do you no good (easy for them to say - ed).
Now you can try and let it out but therein lies a danger. I have tried, my how I have tried. I always seem to end up being overwhelmed with a tsunami of raw acid tears, chest aching and heaving under the pressure of getting breath into my lungs as powerful painful sobs force their way out, then, there is the wailing and I have lost control. That hurts, that loss of control hurts, but I am told by professionals that this is emotion and that it is a good thing.
So, here I am, a British man with his stiff upper lip shot to pieces, an upper lip now quivering like a lump of raspberry jelly (much prefer strawberry - ed), and I am told expressing of this emotion is a good thing. I, for one, remain to be convinced
Afterthought
The post is titled as it is, because my Mum was cremated back in December 2011, and I, like my siblings were each given a pot containing some of my Mum's ashes by our Dad. It has taken me from them until now to deal with them. Mum loved bluebells, and so her ashes now reside under a lovely spot next to our apple tree, under all the bluebell bulbs. The bluebells are now starting to shoot and we can be expect them to flower in the coming weeks. I will put a photo up in a week or two to show you all.
So Mum is now with the bluebells she loved during life. She might be physically gone, but she is still firmly entrenched in my mind, still loved, still missed and never ever ever forgotten, and my how it hurts.
After Picture (Here be the spot)
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