Am I Becoming A TV Addict?!
Growing up in East Africa, there was no television; and then living in South Africa, television was not available in that country either. There were cinemas, theatres, concerts to go to, and of course dear old "steam" radio - to my mind, after seeing a stage play, the next best thing was to hear it on radio. The most perfect leading man, the most beautiful leading lady, were to be found in your head, in your imagination - seeing a photograph of the cast could then prove to be a horrible disappointment! so better just to rely on their voices, and the atmosphere and sound effects created by the radio theatre workshops.
With this background, I never thought I would get particularly seduced by the goggle box; even when I came back to England in 1970, got married and had our daughter, Wendy, a telly was not high on the agenda of essential purchases. The first thing Bob and I did was to get a telephone - a shared line in those days, as there weren't enough lines to provide a private line to everyone! - and a piano. We played, sang, I accompanied Bob when he played the clarinet and violin - it was wonderful, creating our own entertainment.
Then there were the times when Bob was away at sea; so that I would have something to watch, a kind friend offered us their old black and white t.v. - they had just gone on to colour, and as we had no set at all, we said "Yes, thank you!"
It was nice to have the chance to see as well as hear the news. I also enjoyed the wildlife programmes, but with a young baby to look after, there wasn't much time to become reliant on the box in the corner of the room.
Eventually, even we succumbed to the lure of colour programmes and with only 3 or 4 channels to choose from, we remained very selective; we still played, sang and our parties round the piano were very popular!
Now there are so many channels to choose from, I find it quite terrifying. No-one is going to live long enough to watch everything that might (just might!) interest them; so again, I tended to drop out of getting into all the various soaps and "must see" series that came along.
Looking after Mum also channelled our choice of programmes. When Mum couldn't concentrate long enough to enjoy a film or series on t.v. (she used to follow Murder She Wrote and Colombo) but later on she liked Homes Under the Hammer, which were short enough for her to remember what she thought she would do with a particular house to renovate it. Whilst she was having her dinner, we would watch a couple of quiz programmes together, Tipping Point and The Chase being two favourites. Wildlife films went down a treat, especially if they were about Africa; she could really relate to them, if they showed the deserts or jungles and the wild animals.
There were some programmes I quite fancied watching, but if they started at 9.00 p.m., even if they were on for only an hour, with the time schedule we had for looking after Mum and making sure she had eaten her dinner, it was usually impossible for me to watch them at the transmission time; a huge number of programmes were recorded, for me to watch later - whenever "later" might be.
The result is, there are dozens of films, series and single stand-alone programmes all sitting in the black box, just waiting for me to watch them - even those I have probably gone off by now anyway.
Since Mum died, these past weeks have been hectic, getting all the letters written, advising people, authorities, banks, etc., what has happened; but suddenly I found I was getting to the end of that very long list of things to do, and I actually had time for other interests.
And so now, with more time to spare: Am I turning into a TV addict?
In the past three weeks, I have watched the three 1-hour episodes of "Quiz," the programme about the first million-pound winner on Who Wants to be a Millionaire, who was then found guilty of cheating; and three 1-hour episodes of "A Very English Scandal," about the leader of the Liberal party back in the 1970s, who was accused of trying to have his lover murdered.
I have now watched 5 films:
Victoria and Abdul; a James Bond outing with Spectre; a very young Richard Burton in The Robe; Richard Burton again, in The Spy Who Came in From the Cold; and Cabaret, from 1972 - which I saw in a cinema in Portsmouth, when it first came out! (All that's missing now (with the earlier films) is the usherette in a frilly pinny, walking down the aisle during the interval, carrying a large tray with a halter neck ribbon around her neck and shoulders to support it, offering the audience "Ice creams! Cigarettes! Chocolates!")
I remember my Grandma telling me in Dar-es-Salaam, that she had read a book called The Robe, written by Lloyd C Douglas, and there was a film being made of it. The film came out in 1953, but I wasn't taken to see it; all these years later, through the wonder of television, here was my chance to watch it, and think back to my Grandma.
The patterns are changing, and we are winding down; what other treasures await - or lurk! - in the black box of recorded programmes?
It's very nice being able to sit down and relax and watch something uninterrupted; but with all the hundreds (?) of programmes sitting patiently in the queue - and yet more coming on screen every day - am I becoming a t.v. addict? Will I ever go to watch a film at "the flicks" again? Will I ever go to see a play in the theatre? Well ... (when the problems with the virus are over, as we all hope one day they surely must be, and we can go out and about more freely again) ... I jolly well hope so!
Thursday, 30 April 2020
Friday, 24 April 2020
Words That Heal
Words That Heal
It's just over a month since Mum died, and we have had cards, letters, e-mails and phone calls from the four corners of the earth; all of them kind and loving and sympathetic, and every message welcome.
One dear friend reminded us Psalm 91 holds words of comfort, whilst other friends have included wonderful poetry, reminding us that there is great comfort to be found in the understanding of other writers of the human condition. Here is a selection of some that our lovely friends have sent to us:
Death is only an old door
set in a garden wall.
On quiet hinges it gives at dusk,
when the thrushes call.
Along the lintel are green leaves,
beyond, the light lies still;
Very weary and willing feet
go over that sill.
There is nothing to trouble any heart,
nothing to hurt at all.
Death is only an old door
in a garden wall.
Nancy Byrd Turner
It's just over a month since Mum died, and we have had cards, letters, e-mails and phone calls from the four corners of the earth; all of them kind and loving and sympathetic, and every message welcome.
One dear friend reminded us Psalm 91 holds words of comfort, whilst other friends have included wonderful poetry, reminding us that there is great comfort to be found in the understanding of other writers of the human condition. Here is a selection of some that our lovely friends have sent to us:
Death is only an old door
set in a garden wall.
On quiet hinges it gives at dusk,
when the thrushes call.
Along the lintel are green leaves,
beyond, the light lies still;
Very weary and willing feet
go over that sill.
There is nothing to trouble any heart,
nothing to hurt at all.
Death is only an old door
in a garden wall.
Nancy Byrd Turner
A Scots Farewell
When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me
I want no tears in a good-filled room
Why cry for a soul set free?
Miss me a little but not for long
And not with your head bowed low
Remember the love that we once shared
Miss me but let me go.
For this is a journey we all must take
And each must go alone
It's all a part of the master plan
A step on the road to home.
When you are lonely and sick of heart
Go to the friend we know
And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds
Miss me ... but let me go.
A quotation from Joyce Grenfell:
If I should go before the rest of you
If I should go before the rest of you
Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone,
Nor when I’m gone speak in a Sunday voice
But be the usual selves that I have known.
Weep if you must,
Parting is hell,
But life goes on,
So sing as well.
And that poem brings me to the wonderful folks who have sent us anecdotes, clever puns on words, amusing photos they've seen; witty and funny messages which also cheer us all up, and remind us life does go on. To all the kind and loving people who might be reading this: please don't stop!
And that poem brings me to the wonderful folks who have sent us anecdotes, clever puns on words, amusing photos they've seen; witty and funny messages which also cheer us all up, and remind us life does go on. To all the kind and loving people who might be reading this: please don't stop!
We shall sing (and laugh) as well.
Wednesday, 22 April 2020
Blackie Comes Home
Blackie Comes Home
On Saturday evening, 18 April, we brought Blackie home from the Vets' surgery.
We are allowed to bury our pets in the garden, and we had a special place in mind where we could lay Blackie to rest. There is a space at the back of the patio, with a deep trench; it's surrounded by a high wall at the back, and low walls at the front and side, so a really lovely place for him to lie, and where we can think of him and how he loved to act "Lord of the Manor," prowling his precinct every evening.
It took some time and effort to prepare everything, and at last we could lay Blackie to rest. We know that not even a sparrow falls without God knowing about it, so surely He will know that a well-loved pussycat has died. We said a little prayer to thank God for sending Blackie to us, and for his companionship and having the sheer joy and pleasure he has given us all, having him as part of our family for so many years.
When we can organise my Mum's funeral, one of the hymns we will sing is "All Things Bright and Beautiful, All Creatures Great and Small..." Mum loved that hymn, and it seemed appropriate to sing some verses for Blackie, and remembering "... The lord God made them all."
It is truly amazing and wonderful, the positive impact one cat can make on our lives.
On Saturday evening, 18 April, we brought Blackie home from the Vets' surgery.
We are allowed to bury our pets in the garden, and we had a special place in mind where we could lay Blackie to rest. There is a space at the back of the patio, with a deep trench; it's surrounded by a high wall at the back, and low walls at the front and side, so a really lovely place for him to lie, and where we can think of him and how he loved to act "Lord of the Manor," prowling his precinct every evening.
It took some time and effort to prepare everything, and at last we could lay Blackie to rest. We know that not even a sparrow falls without God knowing about it, so surely He will know that a well-loved pussycat has died. We said a little prayer to thank God for sending Blackie to us, and for his companionship and having the sheer joy and pleasure he has given us all, having him as part of our family for so many years.
When we can organise my Mum's funeral, one of the hymns we will sing is "All Things Bright and Beautiful, All Creatures Great and Small..." Mum loved that hymn, and it seemed appropriate to sing some verses for Blackie, and remembering "... The lord God made them all."
It is truly amazing and wonderful, the positive impact one cat can make on our lives.
 |
| Blackie's resting place. Covered in Forget-me-not flowers, we'll always remember him |
Monday, 20 April 2020
Blackie Bows Out
Blackie Bows Out
I think grief is the price we pay for love. You have a choice: close your heart, and refuse to let anyone, or even allow a beloved pet to come into your life, because then, when they die, you won't be upset; or else you can decide to be open to all the joy that loving and being loved can bring, and be thankful for all the happy times you have spent together. Yes, it's harrowing when they are no longer there, and you have to come to terms with the fact they aren't going to come in through the door anymore, but I've found so much comfort in being able to remember them with love.
My Grandma used to say, as we get older, we live on our memories. We can't live charmed lives with no trials and tribulations, but I try to make as many happy memories as possible, and focus on them. They carry you through.
It is only 26 days since Mum died, and now we have to say goodbye to Blackie. With Mum, it was quite a long goodbye, and in some ways it helped having time to prepare for it; it wasn't such a shock and Mum went gently and peacefully.
Blackie's sudden collapse was different; less than 48 hours on, I keep thinking how could he have been fine on Friday morning, and then so ill at 7.00 p.m that evening? Well, it's no good asking that question. It is what has happened, and now we must think of all the wonderful years when we were blessed to have a cat companion like Blackie.
As he grew older, he had a couple of ailments - a bit of arthritis here and there, and he had a slight heart murmur, along with a kidney that was not functioning as well as it should have been. We bought special renal food for him, and hoped that would help. He developed hyperthyroidism, which we treated with transdermal medicine, rubbed into the pinna of his ear. He wasn't keen on that! and was clever at flattening his ears down to horizontal pitch, but it only took 30 seconds to administer, and he put up with it.
When I look back, we had noticed some slightly different behaviour, and now I wonder if it could have been a precursor to his collapse on Friday evening. For some time, after Blackie had eaten a lovely fresh sachet of food (although he would often just lick at the jelly or the gravy) within a very short time he would be back at his dish, complaining loudly that he wanted feeding. Maybe he hadn't had enough to eat the first time round, so we always put out more for him, but latterly I began to wonder if in fact he was becoming a bit like Mum? Mum could eat a big dinner, and finish every morsel, then half an hour later, forget she had eaten, and start asking when her dinner would be ready.
Cats and dogs can get dementia, so could Blackie have been displaying symptoms of it? The Vet said it was possible, although in Blackie's case, his collapse was more likely down to a cancer in his brain, or one pressing on his spine. Maybe it was a combination of all of this, and his great age.
From the minute he materialised in our garden to when he eventually decided we would provide a good home for him, he has repaid us with undivided devotion. To begin with, he would come in the house and sit for a while; when he had had enough of our company, he would ask to go out, and we would watch him trot down the path, hoping he would soon be back. He returned every day, and late in the evening would sit with me on the sofa; being such a long cat, he could not get all of himself on my knee, so he would put his head on my lap, and the rest of his body would be draped over the next seat, and sometimes I'd fall asleep whilst stroking him! Usually, after an hour or so of being fussed, he would want to go back to the garden, but one night, as I was fussing him and talking to him, I felt Blackie take huge big breath in, and as he breathed out, his whole body relaxed completely, and he just snuggled in a bit closer. I believe that was the moment when he realised he was safe, and could stay forever; he never went back to sleeping out of doors again.
From then on, we began to learn what a sensitive cat he was. If someone wasn't feeling very well, he would be there, curled up beside you, emanating warmth and soothing purring. He spent so much time with Mum, and sometimes jumped up on her bed to spend the night with her - he was strong then! and could leap! - and Mum loved his company.
He joined in with us on everything; he was a Railway Cat, and got inquisitive about Romulus; if you were involved with something on the line, Blackie would not be far away, sitting atop one of the coaches, watching what was going on.
Every evening, he would go out on the patio, to "patrol his manor." The patio is filled with pots and tubs of flowers, and Blackie would examine each one, sniffing and looking, checking there were no interloping mice lurking and ready to make a dash for it. After making sure all was well, he'd come indoors to settle down for the night.
During the day, he had certain places he loved to sit. There is a "conversation set" on the patio, which is a table and two chairs, shaped to fit at an angle to the table, so a couple can chat and look at each other without having to turn the chairs around, For Blackie, the table was a high perch where he could survey all that was going on around him.
Blackie was a wonderful cat, and a very special pet. He knew he was loved, and he returned that love to us unreservedly.
I think grief is the price we pay for love. You have a choice: close your heart, and refuse to let anyone, or even allow a beloved pet to come into your life, because then, when they die, you won't be upset; or else you can decide to be open to all the joy that loving and being loved can bring, and be thankful for all the happy times you have spent together. Yes, it's harrowing when they are no longer there, and you have to come to terms with the fact they aren't going to come in through the door anymore, but I've found so much comfort in being able to remember them with love.
My Grandma used to say, as we get older, we live on our memories. We can't live charmed lives with no trials and tribulations, but I try to make as many happy memories as possible, and focus on them. They carry you through.
It is only 26 days since Mum died, and now we have to say goodbye to Blackie. With Mum, it was quite a long goodbye, and in some ways it helped having time to prepare for it; it wasn't such a shock and Mum went gently and peacefully.
Blackie's sudden collapse was different; less than 48 hours on, I keep thinking how could he have been fine on Friday morning, and then so ill at 7.00 p.m that evening? Well, it's no good asking that question. It is what has happened, and now we must think of all the wonderful years when we were blessed to have a cat companion like Blackie.
As he grew older, he had a couple of ailments - a bit of arthritis here and there, and he had a slight heart murmur, along with a kidney that was not functioning as well as it should have been. We bought special renal food for him, and hoped that would help. He developed hyperthyroidism, which we treated with transdermal medicine, rubbed into the pinna of his ear. He wasn't keen on that! and was clever at flattening his ears down to horizontal pitch, but it only took 30 seconds to administer, and he put up with it.
When I look back, we had noticed some slightly different behaviour, and now I wonder if it could have been a precursor to his collapse on Friday evening. For some time, after Blackie had eaten a lovely fresh sachet of food (although he would often just lick at the jelly or the gravy) within a very short time he would be back at his dish, complaining loudly that he wanted feeding. Maybe he hadn't had enough to eat the first time round, so we always put out more for him, but latterly I began to wonder if in fact he was becoming a bit like Mum? Mum could eat a big dinner, and finish every morsel, then half an hour later, forget she had eaten, and start asking when her dinner would be ready.
Cats and dogs can get dementia, so could Blackie have been displaying symptoms of it? The Vet said it was possible, although in Blackie's case, his collapse was more likely down to a cancer in his brain, or one pressing on his spine. Maybe it was a combination of all of this, and his great age.
From the minute he materialised in our garden to when he eventually decided we would provide a good home for him, he has repaid us with undivided devotion. To begin with, he would come in the house and sit for a while; when he had had enough of our company, he would ask to go out, and we would watch him trot down the path, hoping he would soon be back. He returned every day, and late in the evening would sit with me on the sofa; being such a long cat, he could not get all of himself on my knee, so he would put his head on my lap, and the rest of his body would be draped over the next seat, and sometimes I'd fall asleep whilst stroking him! Usually, after an hour or so of being fussed, he would want to go back to the garden, but one night, as I was fussing him and talking to him, I felt Blackie take huge big breath in, and as he breathed out, his whole body relaxed completely, and he just snuggled in a bit closer. I believe that was the moment when he realised he was safe, and could stay forever; he never went back to sleeping out of doors again.
From then on, we began to learn what a sensitive cat he was. If someone wasn't feeling very well, he would be there, curled up beside you, emanating warmth and soothing purring. He spent so much time with Mum, and sometimes jumped up on her bed to spend the night with her - he was strong then! and could leap! - and Mum loved his company.
He joined in with us on everything; he was a Railway Cat, and got inquisitive about Romulus; if you were involved with something on the line, Blackie would not be far away, sitting atop one of the coaches, watching what was going on.
Every evening, he would go out on the patio, to "patrol his manor." The patio is filled with pots and tubs of flowers, and Blackie would examine each one, sniffing and looking, checking there were no interloping mice lurking and ready to make a dash for it. After making sure all was well, he'd come indoors to settle down for the night.
During the day, he had certain places he loved to sit. There is a "conversation set" on the patio, which is a table and two chairs, shaped to fit at an angle to the table, so a couple can chat and look at each other without having to turn the chairs around, For Blackie, the table was a high perch where he could survey all that was going on around him.
Blackie was a wonderful cat, and a very special pet. He knew he was loved, and he returned that love to us unreservedly.
 |
| His Majesty Blackie looking very regal and lording it over the patio |
 |
| Blackie with Mum - Always a reassuring paw on the arm of her chair |
 |
| Mum with Pushkin and Blackie Cat Companionship for ever! |
Sunday, 19 April 2020
We Have To Bid Blackie Farewell
We Have To Bid Blackie Farewell
The Vet rang us this morning before 8.00 a.m., but not with the news we had been hoping for.
Blackie's potassium and sodium levels were better, but he was still not able to stand, and not moving very much; he was clearly distressed that he could not get to his tray. We had a very sober discussion about the options still open for Blackie but, in the Vet's opinion, Blackie would probably not benefit from further investigative treatment.
He could have an MRI scan, but that would involve an anaesthetic, and in any case would probably only serve to confirm what the main suspected illnesses affecting Blackie are: primarily, the Vets were agreed the most likely diagnosis is cancer - possibly in Blackie's brain, or on his spine, which would cause the ataxia. Apart from Blackie not being able to get onto the litter tray, he cannot move very much at all; they had found him with his head lying against his food bowl, so clearly he had tried to eat something but could not raise his head enough to manage it. For such a clean and independent cat like Blackie, this loss of control is terrible for him.
If the Vets had been hopeful that an MRI scan might have indicated Blackie could undergo surgery, we would not have hesitated to go ahead; even with only a slim chance of success, we wanted him to have every chance we could give him, to recover. But, and here was the rub: an MRI scan would be stressful for Blackie, and he was already distressed. We didn't want to put him through any more tests, just to satisfy ourselves about the diagnosis.
The Vet said she was sure he wasn't in any pain; he was just not able to understand why suddenly he couldn't do the things he wanted to do, so we took a half-way stage decision: repeat the blood tests, and give him a few more hours. The Vet said she would call us back at about midday, and let us know the results.
The morning passed in a blur. I couldn't settle to anything - I don't think any of us could believe how this time yesterday morning, Blackie was fine, and now here we are, facing the fact of his devastating illness.
The Vet rang us at mid-day, to say the blood tests were back, and they had got his potassium and sodium levels up; but that really did not change anything. Blackie is still unable to move, still so unhappy that he is not able to do what he used to do; medically, there is nothing else to be done.
We took a deep breath, and agreed on the last decision we could make for Blackie: to have him put to sleep.
Because of the virus, the practise is not allowing anyone into the building, but we could drive to the car park, as we did last night, and the Vet said she would bring Blackie out to us, so that we could say goodbye. We arranged to be there by 4.30 p.m.
Wendy came as well; when we arrived at the surgery, we phoned them to say we were in the car park, and a few minutes later, the Vet brought Blackie out to us, in his carry basket, and put him on the back seat of the car.
I was so glad it wasn't raining, and not cold. We opened the top of the basket, and he could feel the fresh air on his face and we could stroke him and talk to him, and tell him what a good cat he is, and how much we love him.
Blackie was pleased to see us, but his pupils were dilated, and he had clearly deteriorated since last night. He made the occasional little meow - oh, where was that great, powerful, demanding, Siamese-like, strident MEOW! from just a day ago? - and Wendy could feel him purring very gently. He looked at us, but he also seemed bewildered; he lifted his head for us, and licked his nose occasionally. His breathing also seemed rapid, and we just took turns to stroke him and tickle him under his chin - even being so ill, he responded to that - and then at last we had to say one final goodbye.
We rang the Reception, and the Vet came out to collect Blackie. We had taken an old navy-blue fleece top with us, that Wendy had given him years ago when he was ill with pancreatitis, and Blackie really loved it - he would paddle it with his paws until he got it in exactly the right place, and we thought that it would be an appropriate covering for him, as he was put to sleep.
The Vet said someone would be there to cuddle Blackie; he still had a cannula in his leg, so there would be no need to inject him, and the medication would be administered very easily through the port.
Then we sat and waited; walked to some flowering fruit trees and admired the blossom, and thought of Blackie. We do believe that God made "...All creatures, great and small..." and have faith that He knows when one little cat dies.
Well, it was a very long 15-20 minutes, before the Vet rang us to say she would be bringing Blackie back to us. She had already mentioned they have a special box in which they could place him, and in which we could bury him in the garden; we thought that was a lovely idea. Presently the Vet and a lovely nurse came out, carrying Blackie so carefully, and placed him gently in the car.
The Vet told us it had been completely painless; the nurse said she had cuddled Blackie, and had been tickling him under his chin all the time, so he was loved, and not alone.
I know they must deal with so many pet owners at sad times like this, but we really felt they understood. They had cared for Blackie and made sure his ending was gentle and peaceful.
The Vet rang us this morning before 8.00 a.m., but not with the news we had been hoping for.
Blackie's potassium and sodium levels were better, but he was still not able to stand, and not moving very much; he was clearly distressed that he could not get to his tray. We had a very sober discussion about the options still open for Blackie but, in the Vet's opinion, Blackie would probably not benefit from further investigative treatment.
He could have an MRI scan, but that would involve an anaesthetic, and in any case would probably only serve to confirm what the main suspected illnesses affecting Blackie are: primarily, the Vets were agreed the most likely diagnosis is cancer - possibly in Blackie's brain, or on his spine, which would cause the ataxia. Apart from Blackie not being able to get onto the litter tray, he cannot move very much at all; they had found him with his head lying against his food bowl, so clearly he had tried to eat something but could not raise his head enough to manage it. For such a clean and independent cat like Blackie, this loss of control is terrible for him.
If the Vets had been hopeful that an MRI scan might have indicated Blackie could undergo surgery, we would not have hesitated to go ahead; even with only a slim chance of success, we wanted him to have every chance we could give him, to recover. But, and here was the rub: an MRI scan would be stressful for Blackie, and he was already distressed. We didn't want to put him through any more tests, just to satisfy ourselves about the diagnosis.
The Vet said she was sure he wasn't in any pain; he was just not able to understand why suddenly he couldn't do the things he wanted to do, so we took a half-way stage decision: repeat the blood tests, and give him a few more hours. The Vet said she would call us back at about midday, and let us know the results.
The morning passed in a blur. I couldn't settle to anything - I don't think any of us could believe how this time yesterday morning, Blackie was fine, and now here we are, facing the fact of his devastating illness.
The Vet rang us at mid-day, to say the blood tests were back, and they had got his potassium and sodium levels up; but that really did not change anything. Blackie is still unable to move, still so unhappy that he is not able to do what he used to do; medically, there is nothing else to be done.
We took a deep breath, and agreed on the last decision we could make for Blackie: to have him put to sleep.
Because of the virus, the practise is not allowing anyone into the building, but we could drive to the car park, as we did last night, and the Vet said she would bring Blackie out to us, so that we could say goodbye. We arranged to be there by 4.30 p.m.
Wendy came as well; when we arrived at the surgery, we phoned them to say we were in the car park, and a few minutes later, the Vet brought Blackie out to us, in his carry basket, and put him on the back seat of the car.
I was so glad it wasn't raining, and not cold. We opened the top of the basket, and he could feel the fresh air on his face and we could stroke him and talk to him, and tell him what a good cat he is, and how much we love him.
Blackie was pleased to see us, but his pupils were dilated, and he had clearly deteriorated since last night. He made the occasional little meow - oh, where was that great, powerful, demanding, Siamese-like, strident MEOW! from just a day ago? - and Wendy could feel him purring very gently. He looked at us, but he also seemed bewildered; he lifted his head for us, and licked his nose occasionally. His breathing also seemed rapid, and we just took turns to stroke him and tickle him under his chin - even being so ill, he responded to that - and then at last we had to say one final goodbye.
We rang the Reception, and the Vet came out to collect Blackie. We had taken an old navy-blue fleece top with us, that Wendy had given him years ago when he was ill with pancreatitis, and Blackie really loved it - he would paddle it with his paws until he got it in exactly the right place, and we thought that it would be an appropriate covering for him, as he was put to sleep.
The Vet said someone would be there to cuddle Blackie; he still had a cannula in his leg, so there would be no need to inject him, and the medication would be administered very easily through the port.
Then we sat and waited; walked to some flowering fruit trees and admired the blossom, and thought of Blackie. We do believe that God made "...All creatures, great and small..." and have faith that He knows when one little cat dies.
Well, it was a very long 15-20 minutes, before the Vet rang us to say she would be bringing Blackie back to us. She had already mentioned they have a special box in which they could place him, and in which we could bury him in the garden; we thought that was a lovely idea. Presently the Vet and a lovely nurse came out, carrying Blackie so carefully, and placed him gently in the car.
The Vet told us it had been completely painless; the nurse said she had cuddled Blackie, and had been tickling him under his chin all the time, so he was loved, and not alone.
I know they must deal with so many pet owners at sad times like this, but we really felt they understood. They had cared for Blackie and made sure his ending was gentle and peaceful.
Saturday, 18 April 2020
Blackie Is In Hospital
Blackie Is In Hospital
I was having some soup and toast, when I heard a little rustling behind me, as Blackie came round the back of one of the armchairs. He is often in that area, by the piano, so at any second I expected him to walk casually in front of me; then I heard a bit of a thump: I looked round and saw Blackie was on the floor, stretched out on the carpet.
For a moment, I thought he had simply perhaps misjudged a jump from the armchair to the floor, but then he was trying to get up, and not really making it up on to four legs. He managed another step or two, but then collapsed again on the carpet.
He was clearly distressed; not meowing his usual "Hey, I'm here! Look at me!" meow, but a piteous little mew. I jumped up to stroke him and reassure him; he staggered up again, and this time got as far as the kitchen, when his legs went under him again and he lay stretched out on the tiles. He is such a long cat, and it brought home just how lengthy he is.
We rang our usual vet; there was a recorded message to say the surgery closed at 7.00 p.m, but there was an emergency number to call for an out-of-hours vet, and I rang them straight away. Another answer message there said the vet was busy at that moment, but to please try again shortly; I kept trying, and got through at about 7.30.
I explained what had happened, and was told to bring Blackie to the surgery, where a vet would see him straight away.
Whilst I had been on the phone, game Blackie had got up and gone to the tray, but he clearly wasn't able to tell if he was sitting on it properly; he then walked through to the hall, but he was so wobbly, it was awful to see him like that. Everything was a struggle for him.
Very gently and slowly, I picked him up and placed him into his carrier; he did not protest at all, and it was awful to have him so quiet and quiescent. I much prefer the bold, loud, argumentative, demanding Blackie!
The emergency vet's surgery was quite a way from our usual surgery, but we found it alright, and parked close to the entrance. Because of the problems with the virus, the vet came out to see us, and took down the details of what had happened to Blackie.
I asked if he could have suffered a stroke? and the vet said it is possible; she asked permission to first carry out blood tests and see what else might be happening, so that was agreed upon, and Blackie was admitted to hospital.
Well, that was a shock. As Mum would have said, "It's always the unexpected that turns up!" and she was right. I asked the vet if the results of the tests came through this evening, please could she ring me and let me know what they are?
I said, "I'm an owl, so I am usually up until midnight, 1.00 o'clock..." and the vet laughed and said she would call me as soon as they had some answers.
Back home, I found it really hard to settle. I had another cup of tea and a Weetabix (so that's my early breakfast sorted, then!) and just waited for news.
As she had promised, the vet rang at about midnight.
First of all, Blackie was very comfortable, he was happy and purring. He is the only cat in the hospital at the moment, so he is getting all the attention. The results of the blood tests so far show he is low on potassium (just like Mum was...) and sodium, and dehydrated; his kidney function showed one kidney was not working as well as it should, so they had got him on medication, and would repeat the blood tests tomorrow. Low potassium could have resulted in his ataxia, and why he was so weak he could not hold his head up; but four hours on, he was doing better now.
I had already asked if Blackie could have had a stroke, and the vet said it was possible; he also has a heart murmur, and there are other indications of neurological problems, which could be ascertained by an MRI scan. We shall have discussions about that tomorrow.
I told the vet how much I appreciated her phoning us to tell us how Blackie was getting on at the moment, and that I will certainly sleep better having had that information.
Now we must wait until tomorrow; and for a day which we hope will also bring some good news.
I was having some soup and toast, when I heard a little rustling behind me, as Blackie came round the back of one of the armchairs. He is often in that area, by the piano, so at any second I expected him to walk casually in front of me; then I heard a bit of a thump: I looked round and saw Blackie was on the floor, stretched out on the carpet.
For a moment, I thought he had simply perhaps misjudged a jump from the armchair to the floor, but then he was trying to get up, and not really making it up on to four legs. He managed another step or two, but then collapsed again on the carpet.
He was clearly distressed; not meowing his usual "Hey, I'm here! Look at me!" meow, but a piteous little mew. I jumped up to stroke him and reassure him; he staggered up again, and this time got as far as the kitchen, when his legs went under him again and he lay stretched out on the tiles. He is such a long cat, and it brought home just how lengthy he is.
We rang our usual vet; there was a recorded message to say the surgery closed at 7.00 p.m, but there was an emergency number to call for an out-of-hours vet, and I rang them straight away. Another answer message there said the vet was busy at that moment, but to please try again shortly; I kept trying, and got through at about 7.30.
I explained what had happened, and was told to bring Blackie to the surgery, where a vet would see him straight away.
Whilst I had been on the phone, game Blackie had got up and gone to the tray, but he clearly wasn't able to tell if he was sitting on it properly; he then walked through to the hall, but he was so wobbly, it was awful to see him like that. Everything was a struggle for him.
Very gently and slowly, I picked him up and placed him into his carrier; he did not protest at all, and it was awful to have him so quiet and quiescent. I much prefer the bold, loud, argumentative, demanding Blackie!
The emergency vet's surgery was quite a way from our usual surgery, but we found it alright, and parked close to the entrance. Because of the problems with the virus, the vet came out to see us, and took down the details of what had happened to Blackie.
I asked if he could have suffered a stroke? and the vet said it is possible; she asked permission to first carry out blood tests and see what else might be happening, so that was agreed upon, and Blackie was admitted to hospital.
Well, that was a shock. As Mum would have said, "It's always the unexpected that turns up!" and she was right. I asked the vet if the results of the tests came through this evening, please could she ring me and let me know what they are?
I said, "I'm an owl, so I am usually up until midnight, 1.00 o'clock..." and the vet laughed and said she would call me as soon as they had some answers.
Back home, I found it really hard to settle. I had another cup of tea and a Weetabix (so that's my early breakfast sorted, then!) and just waited for news.
As she had promised, the vet rang at about midnight.
First of all, Blackie was very comfortable, he was happy and purring. He is the only cat in the hospital at the moment, so he is getting all the attention. The results of the blood tests so far show he is low on potassium (just like Mum was...) and sodium, and dehydrated; his kidney function showed one kidney was not working as well as it should, so they had got him on medication, and would repeat the blood tests tomorrow. Low potassium could have resulted in his ataxia, and why he was so weak he could not hold his head up; but four hours on, he was doing better now.
I had already asked if Blackie could have had a stroke, and the vet said it was possible; he also has a heart murmur, and there are other indications of neurological problems, which could be ascertained by an MRI scan. We shall have discussions about that tomorrow.
I told the vet how much I appreciated her phoning us to tell us how Blackie was getting on at the moment, and that I will certainly sleep better having had that information.
Now we must wait until tomorrow; and for a day which we hope will also bring some good news.
Friday, 17 April 2020
Little Tweaks That Upset...
Little Tweaks That Upset...
1) Removing the keys from the Key Safe in the porch by the front door. With no carers having to let themselves in, there is no longer any need for the keys to be available.
2) When she was in hospital, we made a "hot box," cutting down a medium sized cardboard box to just the right size to take the plate for Mum's dinner. It worked a treat; her food stayed piping hot when I got it up to the ward. It was such a shame she wasn't able to eat properly anymore, and what she was eating, clearly wasn't getting through to do her much good, which is why we went on to Complan, and tried to persuade Mum to have some of that. Now we have no further need for a "hot box" - home-made or not - I took out the newspapers lining it, and disposed of it.
3) Taking Mum's unused medicines back to the Pharmacy at Tesco: The Pharmacist asked who the pills had been prescribed for, and everyone in the Pharmacy was very upset to hear it was Mum who had died. After so many years of dispensing pills for her on a monthly basis, they had got to know and recognise Mum's name; everyone knew about her.
4) Not putting on the Thunderball numbers for Mum's lottery flutter every week. As each ticket was printed, I used to check every one for her, and then I'd say to the lady at the Customer Services counter at Tesco, "There! That's our good deed for the week!" Mum would only do Thunderball; she thought the lottery charging £2.00 a ticket was far too much, but Thunderball, at £1.00 a line, was fair enough.
5) Mum's glide-about commode: one of the lovely carers who used to look after Mum rang up, to say there was one client they were caring for, who had no commode, and would it be possible for them to have Mum's? It was lovely we could help and presently two carers came to collect it - a problem solved in double quick time, for someone in need. At least I feel Mum's equipment hasn't just been thrown away, but is being put to more good use.
6) Within a few days of Mum's passing, I also gave our carers the rest of Mum's pads. I had ordered so many of the large-sized "tabbed" pads, which Mum had needed when she was all swollen with the oedema, and we had a large stock of them; but when she came back home from hospital, all the swelling had gone, so they no longer fitted her. They were now miles too big, and she was back using the smallest size we had. I did not want to return the large pads to DriLine, (a wonderfully helpful company that has proved so efficient and helpful all these years in providing pads and inco sheets), especially as they had already kindly done one switch for us, swapping medium sized pads for the large ones!
7) It wasn't so long ago that Mum was still in the habit of tearing up catalogues, in-store magazines and holiday brochures; we could never work out why she was doing it! but it seemed to keep her happy and occupied, and she certainly filled up a few plastic bags with all the strips. We had a cardboard box to keep a supply of magazines for her, but in the three or four weeks before she died, she had lost interest in tearing up paper, and we had a lot left. It made me feel sad seeing all the magazines just sitting there on the table, and eventually I did dispose of them in an orange bag, but it brought home one more little "minus" of all the things we used to think about doing for Mum.
Although it still causes me sorrow to remember it was such a short time ago that Mum still needed all these things: the key safe, help with her Thunderball flutter, her medication, the glider, and the pads, I feel much happier donating practical things to benefit people who have nothing at all; there is a great comfort in that.
1) Removing the keys from the Key Safe in the porch by the front door. With no carers having to let themselves in, there is no longer any need for the keys to be available.
2) When she was in hospital, we made a "hot box," cutting down a medium sized cardboard box to just the right size to take the plate for Mum's dinner. It worked a treat; her food stayed piping hot when I got it up to the ward. It was such a shame she wasn't able to eat properly anymore, and what she was eating, clearly wasn't getting through to do her much good, which is why we went on to Complan, and tried to persuade Mum to have some of that. Now we have no further need for a "hot box" - home-made or not - I took out the newspapers lining it, and disposed of it.
3) Taking Mum's unused medicines back to the Pharmacy at Tesco: The Pharmacist asked who the pills had been prescribed for, and everyone in the Pharmacy was very upset to hear it was Mum who had died. After so many years of dispensing pills for her on a monthly basis, they had got to know and recognise Mum's name; everyone knew about her.
4) Not putting on the Thunderball numbers for Mum's lottery flutter every week. As each ticket was printed, I used to check every one for her, and then I'd say to the lady at the Customer Services counter at Tesco, "There! That's our good deed for the week!" Mum would only do Thunderball; she thought the lottery charging £2.00 a ticket was far too much, but Thunderball, at £1.00 a line, was fair enough.
6) Within a few days of Mum's passing, I also gave our carers the rest of Mum's pads. I had ordered so many of the large-sized "tabbed" pads, which Mum had needed when she was all swollen with the oedema, and we had a large stock of them; but when she came back home from hospital, all the swelling had gone, so they no longer fitted her. They were now miles too big, and she was back using the smallest size we had. I did not want to return the large pads to DriLine, (a wonderfully helpful company that has proved so efficient and helpful all these years in providing pads and inco sheets), especially as they had already kindly done one switch for us, swapping medium sized pads for the large ones!
7) It wasn't so long ago that Mum was still in the habit of tearing up catalogues, in-store magazines and holiday brochures; we could never work out why she was doing it! but it seemed to keep her happy and occupied, and she certainly filled up a few plastic bags with all the strips. We had a cardboard box to keep a supply of magazines for her, but in the three or four weeks before she died, she had lost interest in tearing up paper, and we had a lot left. It made me feel sad seeing all the magazines just sitting there on the table, and eventually I did dispose of them in an orange bag, but it brought home one more little "minus" of all the things we used to think about doing for Mum.
Although it still causes me sorrow to remember it was such a short time ago that Mum still needed all these things: the key safe, help with her Thunderball flutter, her medication, the glider, and the pads, I feel much happier donating practical things to benefit people who have nothing at all; there is a great comfort in that.
Sunday, 12 April 2020
Easter Day 2020
Easter Day 2020
I'm on Fortnum and Mason's mailing list - I love going shopping there, and their tea and biscuit selections are always on my Christmas card list for all my favourite people. Yesterday, their latest message made a great suggestion:
Celebrate Easter in the Great Indoors....
A new take on an old ambition.
At the moment, we have no picnics; no possibility of inviting friends and family round for an Easter Egg Hunt; no going out. We are mindful of all the advice, and are following it.
So how do we cope instead?
I think that it does not mean that mentally we should be imprisoned in an enclosed space. I know if you are in a tiny flat, with everything so restricted, things are difficult and it's hard to focus on positive aspects; but I keep thinking of the story of the two men in prison, looking out of a tiny window in their cell, and how
So how do we cope instead?
I think that it does not mean that mentally we should be imprisoned in an enclosed space. I know if you are in a tiny flat, with everything so restricted, things are difficult and it's hard to focus on positive aspects; but I keep thinking of the story of the two men in prison, looking out of a tiny window in their cell, and how
"... one man saw the bars, and the other man saw the stars."
I'm also reminded of a poem by Richard Lovelace, which includes the lines:
"Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage."
I'm also reminded of a poem by Richard Lovelace, which includes the lines:
"Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage."
I was once laid up for months after breaking my leg. It was ghastly, not having the freedom to go out when I wanted, not doing anything on the spur of the moment, or on a whim... I just had to sit tight and wait for the time to pass, while I healed.
I remember then thinking, "Right - I always go on about not being trapped if my body is not able to go anywhere - my mind is still free to fly wherever it likes! So I had better practise what I preach, and get on with it."
It does take concentration. It takes determination, sheer bloody-mindedness, if you like, not to let things get you down, but if you work at it, it really does work. I wrote a book, and found I really was mentally flying to the places I was writing about, and could forget I was actually stuck at home; I forgot what my actual situation was like.
And like in these trying times, which will one day come to an end, my leg got better. I became confident walking again and eventually threw away my crutches/walking sticks; getting out and about again, never felt more wonderful.
So this Easter is very different to the ones we've celebrated in earlier years. Apart from the virus, this year marks the first time my Mum is not with us to share the day, and enjoy chocolate Easter Eggs, but maybe it's also a chance for us to think what Easter is really about, and to think of what it means.
This year, we have celebrated Easter in the Great Indoors, with lots of phone calls, messages and e-mails, keeping in touch with our loved ones and with those friends who enrich our lives.
This year, we have celebrated Easter in the Great Indoors, with lots of phone calls, messages and e-mails, keeping in touch with our loved ones and with those friends who enrich our lives.
Saturday, 11 April 2020
Wendy's Birthday
10 April - Wendy's Birthday
"A strange day," said Wendy! as she would normally have gone out to visit friends, and generally celebrated her special day. However, she has had so many phone calls, texts, messages on Facebook, as well as cards through the post, that we hope this will in some way go to making up for a quieter Birthday.
I was up very early, and wrote a message for Wendy on Facebook - isn't is great, the way it reminds you when someone's birthday is due?! (NOT, OF COURSE, THAT I NEED REMINDING ABOUT WENDY'S!)
And today is also Good Friday, so for us a quiet day anyway; and we shall celebrate Easter Day on Sunday.
We all listen to the reports on t.v. and the radio, and pray for good news.
"A strange day," said Wendy! as she would normally have gone out to visit friends, and generally celebrated her special day. However, she has had so many phone calls, texts, messages on Facebook, as well as cards through the post, that we hope this will in some way go to making up for a quieter Birthday.
I was up very early, and wrote a message for Wendy on Facebook - isn't is great, the way it reminds you when someone's birthday is due?! (NOT, OF COURSE, THAT I NEED REMINDING ABOUT WENDY'S!)
And today is also Good Friday, so for us a quiet day anyway; and we shall celebrate Easter Day on Sunday.
We all listen to the reports on t.v. and the radio, and pray for good news.
A Super Moon
A Super Moon
There was a Super Moon rising in the sky between 6.30 p.m on Tuesday evening, until 6.30 a.m. on Wednesday morning, so there were 12 hours to view this reasonably rare sight - a full moon, at its closest to the earth, looking so much larger and imposing than usual.
I was in the garden from about 10.30 - 11.00 p.m. on Tuesday night, and took my binoculars with me; how beautiful the moon looked. I could see the craters and the seas, and just to think astronauts have walked on that surface, over 50 years ago, is still breathtaking.
I was in Durban at the time of the first moon landing; there was no television available in South Africa then, so I didn't watch it live, like people could in Europe, but I did see the reports on the newsreel in the cinema.
I was in Durban at the time of the first moon landing; there was no television available in South Africa then, so I didn't watch it live, like people could in Europe, but I did see the reports on the newsreel in the cinema.
I also remember a quotation (can't recall who said it!) that if you are missing someone, and look up at the moon, remember that same moon is looking down on you, as well as on the person you are missing.
It also brings to mind the second verse from an aria in Gilbert and Sullivan's operetta, The Mikado:
Observe his flame, that placid dame, the moon's celestial highness;
There's not a trace upon her face of diffidence or shyness:
She borrows light, that through the night, mankind may all acclaim her!
And truth to tell, she lights up well, so I, for one, don't blame her.
Ah, pray make no mistake, we are not shy;
We're very wide awake, the moon and I!
Ah, pray make no mistake, we are not shy;
We're very wide awake, the moon and I!
I've sung this! and for someone who prefers singing Marlene Dietrich numbers, it was jolly difficult, but I learned a lot, and managed to hit the high notes in the end.
It also brings to mind the second verse from an aria in Gilbert and Sullivan's operetta, The Mikado:
Observe his flame, that placid dame, the moon's celestial highness;
There's not a trace upon her face of diffidence or shyness:
She borrows light, that through the night, mankind may all acclaim her!
And truth to tell, she lights up well, so I, for one, don't blame her.
Ah, pray make no mistake, we are not shy;
We're very wide awake, the moon and I!
Ah, pray make no mistake, we are not shy;
We're very wide awake, the moon and I!
I've sung this! and for someone who prefers singing Marlene Dietrich numbers, it was jolly difficult, but I learned a lot, and managed to hit the high notes in the end.
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| Catching the moon with a long-handled picking-up tool! |
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| A new bauble for the Christmas tree |
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| A jet racing the moon |
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| The moon gets closer! |
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| The best definition yet |
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| The night garden - there be trolls out there! |
Sunday, 5 March
Sunday, 5 March
Well, here we are. Two weeks ago, we celebrated Mother's Day, and Mum had had a good day; and tomorrow, 6 March, will mark two weeks since Mum left us.
Maybe it's something to do with the time scale, but I've felt quite sad today. I have nearly finished contacting all the people I need to tell, jobs have been done, authorities informed; I have also posted off the last of the Easter Cards - all of which I wrote with Mum - and it certainly feels like the end of an era. It is very weird writing letters and not including her in the sign off at the bottom! I know I shall get used to it - I have to - but after so many years of including Mum in everything we did, it will take longer than a week or two.
Last night (Saturday, 4 March), I also wrote to four families in Germany, who don't speak English, and I wanted to write a letter to each of them in the most elegant and poetic way I could, to let them know what had happened; I found it really hard to do.
There is one family in particular in Hamburg, with whom we keep in touch; he is the brother of a lovely chap we knew from East Africa days, called Jurgen, so we all go back such a long time. I once had a terrific crush on Jurgen - (don't ask... he was very nice and very patient, and I must have been a real pain when I was 12 and 13!) - but he had eyes only for Ulla and they got married in1960. (Oh, the gnashing of my teeth at the time!) When they lived in Germany, over the years we would go on holiday and visit them. Wendy remembered one trip with her Grandma, when they sailed to Hamburg on board the DFDS ship Prinz Hamlet - it was a wonderful way to travel, sailing from Harwich and ending with a 3 to 4-hour cruise up the river Elbe to the port of Hamburg. Wendy took the car with her, and she and her Grandma had a great time in Hamburg, meeting up with our old friends.
Looking back at times like this, I realise it is completely true when we say we've always included Mum in everything we've done; we've given Mum good memories, but in so doing, we also given ourselves happy times to remember.
Sadly Jurgen and Ulla died some years ago, but we still write to Jurgen's wider family, and hope to meet up with them again one day.
Well, here we are. Two weeks ago, we celebrated Mother's Day, and Mum had had a good day; and tomorrow, 6 March, will mark two weeks since Mum left us.
Maybe it's something to do with the time scale, but I've felt quite sad today. I have nearly finished contacting all the people I need to tell, jobs have been done, authorities informed; I have also posted off the last of the Easter Cards - all of which I wrote with Mum - and it certainly feels like the end of an era. It is very weird writing letters and not including her in the sign off at the bottom! I know I shall get used to it - I have to - but after so many years of including Mum in everything we did, it will take longer than a week or two.
Last night (Saturday, 4 March), I also wrote to four families in Germany, who don't speak English, and I wanted to write a letter to each of them in the most elegant and poetic way I could, to let them know what had happened; I found it really hard to do.
There is one family in particular in Hamburg, with whom we keep in touch; he is the brother of a lovely chap we knew from East Africa days, called Jurgen, so we all go back such a long time. I once had a terrific crush on Jurgen - (don't ask... he was very nice and very patient, and I must have been a real pain when I was 12 and 13!) - but he had eyes only for Ulla and they got married in1960. (Oh, the gnashing of my teeth at the time!) When they lived in Germany, over the years we would go on holiday and visit them. Wendy remembered one trip with her Grandma, when they sailed to Hamburg on board the DFDS ship Prinz Hamlet - it was a wonderful way to travel, sailing from Harwich and ending with a 3 to 4-hour cruise up the river Elbe to the port of Hamburg. Wendy took the car with her, and she and her Grandma had a great time in Hamburg, meeting up with our old friends.
Looking back at times like this, I realise it is completely true when we say we've always included Mum in everything we've done; we've given Mum good memories, but in so doing, we also given ourselves happy times to remember.
Sadly Jurgen and Ulla died some years ago, but we still write to Jurgen's wider family, and hope to meet up with them again one day.
Thursday, 9 April 2020
The Second Week
The Second Week
If a week is a long time in politics, the second week in sorting things out for Mum has seemed even longer.
After the great surge of work I had to achieve last week, this week has seen an amalgamation of gentler things to do: writing letters - mostly writing letters! - and catching up on phone calls, and thanking people for their kind thoughts about Mum.
I have been getting 4 kinds of post:
1) The official stuff - all fine, all coped with perfectly efficiently.
2) Letters and cards of sympathy for Mum - we are extremely touched and happy to have them, and to read how people really appreciated Mum. It's also very kind when folks reassure us that we have always done the best for her, to make her happy and give her the best life possible. The thing is, people usually focus on how we made good memories for Mum; but, as I think I've written before, this works both ways. Not only did Mum have good memories, we are also blessed with them as well.
3) Birthday cards for me
4) Easter cards for us all
I always keep our Easter and Birthday cards in an album anyway, but I shall make another album for all the beautiful cards and tributes people have sent to us for Mum. She loved the very special album I made for her Birthday celebrations, and I am so thankful I got on with that early enough, for her to enjoy looking through it and remembering the lovely time she enjoyed for her 100th, so I am sure it's the right thing to do for these Sympathy, "Thinking of You" cards, letters and e-mails, as well.
Wednesday 1 April
It was two weeks ago today, that Mum came home from Hospital; time stretches and contracts so erratically, and at the moment I can't believe it's been such a short time, and yet on another level, with all we have had to do, it seems a very long time ago.
As arranged last week, a gentleman from Millbrook Health Care came today and collected the Birdie Hoist and the airbed mattress and pump. I had thought they would also collect the slings Mum had used; however, these were not on the list, so the gentleman could not take them. I will have to ring Millbrook again, and see what they will do about them. The slings have been checked on a regular basis (also by Millbrook) and always passed as safe to use; it would be a dreadful waste of money if they were just thrown away.
Today, we also sorted out a lot of Mum's older nighties. When Mum got home from hospital on 18 March, the ladies couldn't get the nighties over her head and pull them down to dress her properly, so to make things easier for Mum, we slit them up the back, as far as the neckline. I suppose it would not be impossible to stitch a long seam and mend them, but it would take a while to do it by hand, and the material is quite old, and very thin. We have decided they will serve a good turn cleaning Romulus, our steam engine, so they shall have a new and useful purpose in life. Mum liked steam trains, so I think it is an appropriate use for nighties that really cannot be mended; it's certainly better than just throwing them out.
Wendy liked a lot of Mum's Damart tops - they are pretty, warm, and fit her, and so will enjoy a renaissance when Wendy wears them. I have also taken a very pretty top, that Mum had as a Christmas present one year, and I shall take great pleasure in wearing it.
I am not in any rush to clear anything out. Everything will be done carefully and thoughtfully, and in its own good time, when we are ready.
Wendy told me about a friend of hers who is getting married, and this lady has incorporated a piece of her mother's dress into her own Wedding gown, to give her a lovely reminder of her Mum, and continuity. Thinking along those lines, I thought I might make a table runner, using a piece of strong material, and appliqué pieces salvaged from Mum's favourite old clothes.
With this in mind, two nighties had a print of a cat on the front, with "Glamour Puss" underneath; I cut them out, along with some pretty lacy bits from various Berketex jumpers. Mum loved those jumpers! and when they became fragile and frayed, or developed holes, I used to mend them, finding just the right shade of thread to make invisible repairs. That sort of thing will be good to remember; and Mum always looked nice.
Thursday 2 April, Friday 3 April
More writing, more catching up... all the boring stuff that needs doing, so don't complain, don't hold a meeting about how to do it, or prioritising. It's all important, so "just get on with it" is the best policy.
Saturday, 4 April - a week since I celebrated my birthday.
Obviously I couldn't have a party (where was my Tea at the Ritz reservation?!) but I had beautiful cards and presents, and Wendy wrote a wonderful poem for me, to accompany the card she gave me.
I don't feel any older. A bit tireder, maybe!
When all this worry with the virus is over, I am sure we shall arrange a joint celebration for us all - and raise another glass of champagne in honour and memory of Mum.
Monday, 6 April 2020
A Week Is A Long Time In Organising Things
A Week Is A Long Time In Organising Things
Tuesday 24 March:
A surreal day, really. I had made a list of people to contact - Department of Work and Pensions, Havering Social Services, National Savings (Mum has a total of about £18.00 in there!), her Bank (which I am allowed to operate under the Power of Attorney that she granted me) - and a whole lot more.
Mum didn't have a car, so there is no need to contact the DVLA, and her Passport has long since expired; other things on the list are not a priority and I am sorting out what is important.
It was more a day of taking stock, and getting our heads round everything.
We still keep looking in on Mum to see if she is o.k., and then realise she doesn't need us to do that any more.
I rang West and Coe to let them know I would be registering Mum's death tomorrow morning, and take the green certificate to them so that they can embalm Mum and keep her safe. I said I would take some nice clothes as well for her.
We thought it would be nice if Mum could wear a pretty top and the skirt she usually wears when we go to Tea at The Ritz; I ironed her top, and another pretty soft-handle short nightie, that she used to wear as an underslip, and put everything together. She had a new pair of slippers, and finally we added her woolly hat that she loved wearing - the one with a little flower button at the front, and tie strings that she always put to the back of her head, never underneath her chin, in case she spilled tea on it! The flower used to be brightly coloured, but after so many years, and turns in the washing machine, the enamel has definitely faded, but we remember it as it was, and that is the main thing.
Wednesday, 25 March:
I was up early, to be ready to leave in good time for the appointment at the Registrar's Office. Al rang me, and I was so glad to hear him and have a cheering conversation with him first.
At the Registry, Office, strict rules were in force to ensure separation, and I also wore a mask - every little helps, as one of the big supermarkets likes to say.
I felt the Registrar was not particularly friendly - clearly one must be completely professional, and I was not the sort of person about to fall into paroxysms of tears and anguish; we both needed to get the registration done, but there was one hiccup I came to sign the original certificate.
I was aware I had to use a fountain pen with a special ink in it, that does not fade, but gets darker with age. The only problem was this pen had a very slim barrel, and sometimes I find it very hard to hold something so thin; if my right thumb is giving me some gyp as it does on occasion, I cannot get a proper grip.
When Mum could no longer hold pens and pencils properly to draw her pictures, I used to wind elastic bands around the barrels, to help her to hold them more easily, and less painfully.
There must be a number of people attending Registry Offices who have arthritis, so this should be something for the Registrars - or those who supply the pens to their offices - to think about. As it was, I managed to sign the form, but it was not my best signature.
Well, that is another battle for someone else to fight; I was just happy to leave with the green certificate I needed. In fact I must have been one of the last people to be able to attend a Registry Office personally; a day or so later, there were to be no more personal appointments to register a death; I think it all has to be done via telephone now.
I paid for 8 copies of the Death Certificate - I wasn't sure how many I would need, but I reckoned it was better to have too many than too few - and I have enough originals to send to whoever may need one. I was also told about an 0800 number I could ring, to log in with the "Tell Us Once" option; this would ensure the DWP, TV Licensing, DVLA and Passport Office, etc., would be advised that Mum had died, but I felt I really would prefer to do it myself, and when I checked the list, it was exactly the same as I had written out yesterday. There is nothing like doing something yourself, to know it has been done. There is also a therapeutic side to it, making sure I've dealt with everything for Mum, personally.
The next port of call was West and Coe, where I saw Steve, the gentleman I had spoken to on the phone. I gave him the green form, and he took Mum's clothes, listening carefully to what I had to say about Mum's woolly hat (we used to call it her Heidi hat!) and how it should be placed on her head. I think I said something daft about Mum not liking the cold, which is why she loved that hat so much.
We went and parked down by the railway line, and watched a few trains go past; it's a reduced service of course, but it was nice to have a feeling a normality, if only for a little while.
Thursday, 26 March:
Today I rang Havering, who had been organising payments for Mum's care with Home Sweet Home Care. I got through to the lady I have known for years - and who has also known Mum for years. Due to the current virus situation, she was working from home, but as soon as she heard my voice, she recognised me, and said,
"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear the news about your Mum!"
Since my attendance at the Registrar's Office, the information had already been sent over to Havering, and she was so kind and sympathetic. She was the one who had organised a 100th Birthday card to be sent around to every member of staff, and they had all signed it for Mum's birthday; I told her how Mum had been delighted to know so many people had been thinking about her, and how kind they had always been in dealing with Mum's allowances and sorting things out for her.
I rang the Department of Work and Pensions, and they said they would check to see there has been no overpayment of Mum's pension; if too much has been paid, it will be sorted out very quickly. They will write to me.
I rang Social Services about Mum's hoist and slings, and the airbed mattress and pump that were supplied for her; these will need to be collected at some point. Later on, Millbrook Healthcare, who have always provided items like these, said they will collect them next week, on Wednesday afternoon. Mum's room will look quite empty.
Although there is still a lot of work to do on this long list of reporting, I am gradually getting through it.
Friday, 27 March:
I rang West and Co, and spoke to Steve; it was very comforting to hear Mum's body had been embalmed, and she was dressed in the clothes we took round on Wednesday. The other thing I really appreciated was this: without me asking him anything, Steve told me exactly how they had dressed Mum, and had put her Heidi hat on, "...with the little button at the front, and the strings at the back..." That proved how well he had listened, and I was really happy and pleased about it.
I know Mum is at rest; we are also contented that she is in a good place and very much at peace.
In the past few days, I have fielded so many phone calls from dear friends and neighbours, as the news about Mum is spreading abroad.
I am also writing letters and e-mails, and sending Easter Cards. Because I always start writing Easter and Christmas cards so early, this year Mum also knew I was writing the Easter Cards, and that I was preparing to post them. Because she was still with us whilst I was doing all this, of course I included her when I signed every one! I've now also written letters to enclose with the cards, to explain why this is; but now it feels so strange, that I can't include "Mum" at the end of my letters.
Saturday, 28th March
My Birthday.
Well, when you lose someone, you then face a year of "Firsts..." my first Birthday without Mum, first Easter without Mum, Wendy's first birthday without Grandma, etc...
It is just that my birthday has come up very quickly on this list! and I do wish Mum could have been with me to celebrate it; but then, when I look back, we have had so many wonderful times together:
Mother's Day on Sunday, 22 March; Al's birthday on 28 January; New Year's Day; Boxing Day; Christmas Day; Mum's actual 100th Birthday on 28 October, which became nearly a week of celebrations, and of course her memorable Tea at the Ritz on the Saturday, 26 October, when she even had the Queen's birthday card on the table.
So today has been quiet. But I am happy and contented. I am loved and have my family around me, and that is all that matters.
Sunday, 29th March
Another quiet day, really; more letters, more phone calls, more trying to get used to not looking out for the ladies coming along at their usual time to get Mum up and dressed!
I am still thinking about checking on Mum to make sure she is o.k., and if she would like a cup of tea; and that I should soon be getting her dinner on, so that it will be ready after the ladies have come to get Mum up after her nap...
Because I have pretty sharp hearing, when I went to bed I would always leave the bedroom door open, so that I could hear Mum if she called out to me; I am still leaving the bedroom door wide open at night.
We still keep looking in on Mum to see if she is o.k., and then realise she doesn't need us to do that any more.
I rang West and Coe to let them know I would be registering Mum's death tomorrow morning, and take the green certificate to them so that they can embalm Mum and keep her safe. I said I would take some nice clothes as well for her.
We thought it would be nice if Mum could wear a pretty top and the skirt she usually wears when we go to Tea at The Ritz; I ironed her top, and another pretty soft-handle short nightie, that she used to wear as an underslip, and put everything together. She had a new pair of slippers, and finally we added her woolly hat that she loved wearing - the one with a little flower button at the front, and tie strings that she always put to the back of her head, never underneath her chin, in case she spilled tea on it! The flower used to be brightly coloured, but after so many years, and turns in the washing machine, the enamel has definitely faded, but we remember it as it was, and that is the main thing.
Wednesday, 25 March:
I was up early, to be ready to leave in good time for the appointment at the Registrar's Office. Al rang me, and I was so glad to hear him and have a cheering conversation with him first.
At the Registry, Office, strict rules were in force to ensure separation, and I also wore a mask - every little helps, as one of the big supermarkets likes to say.
I felt the Registrar was not particularly friendly - clearly one must be completely professional, and I was not the sort of person about to fall into paroxysms of tears and anguish; we both needed to get the registration done, but there was one hiccup I came to sign the original certificate.
I was aware I had to use a fountain pen with a special ink in it, that does not fade, but gets darker with age. The only problem was this pen had a very slim barrel, and sometimes I find it very hard to hold something so thin; if my right thumb is giving me some gyp as it does on occasion, I cannot get a proper grip.
When Mum could no longer hold pens and pencils properly to draw her pictures, I used to wind elastic bands around the barrels, to help her to hold them more easily, and less painfully.
There must be a number of people attending Registry Offices who have arthritis, so this should be something for the Registrars - or those who supply the pens to their offices - to think about. As it was, I managed to sign the form, but it was not my best signature.
Well, that is another battle for someone else to fight; I was just happy to leave with the green certificate I needed. In fact I must have been one of the last people to be able to attend a Registry Office personally; a day or so later, there were to be no more personal appointments to register a death; I think it all has to be done via telephone now.
I paid for 8 copies of the Death Certificate - I wasn't sure how many I would need, but I reckoned it was better to have too many than too few - and I have enough originals to send to whoever may need one. I was also told about an 0800 number I could ring, to log in with the "Tell Us Once" option; this would ensure the DWP, TV Licensing, DVLA and Passport Office, etc., would be advised that Mum had died, but I felt I really would prefer to do it myself, and when I checked the list, it was exactly the same as I had written out yesterday. There is nothing like doing something yourself, to know it has been done. There is also a therapeutic side to it, making sure I've dealt with everything for Mum, personally.
The next port of call was West and Coe, where I saw Steve, the gentleman I had spoken to on the phone. I gave him the green form, and he took Mum's clothes, listening carefully to what I had to say about Mum's woolly hat (we used to call it her Heidi hat!) and how it should be placed on her head. I think I said something daft about Mum not liking the cold, which is why she loved that hat so much.
We went and parked down by the railway line, and watched a few trains go past; it's a reduced service of course, but it was nice to have a feeling a normality, if only for a little while.
Thursday, 26 March:
Today I rang Havering, who had been organising payments for Mum's care with Home Sweet Home Care. I got through to the lady I have known for years - and who has also known Mum for years. Due to the current virus situation, she was working from home, but as soon as she heard my voice, she recognised me, and said,
"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear the news about your Mum!"
Since my attendance at the Registrar's Office, the information had already been sent over to Havering, and she was so kind and sympathetic. She was the one who had organised a 100th Birthday card to be sent around to every member of staff, and they had all signed it for Mum's birthday; I told her how Mum had been delighted to know so many people had been thinking about her, and how kind they had always been in dealing with Mum's allowances and sorting things out for her.
I rang the Department of Work and Pensions, and they said they would check to see there has been no overpayment of Mum's pension; if too much has been paid, it will be sorted out very quickly. They will write to me.
I rang Social Services about Mum's hoist and slings, and the airbed mattress and pump that were supplied for her; these will need to be collected at some point. Later on, Millbrook Healthcare, who have always provided items like these, said they will collect them next week, on Wednesday afternoon. Mum's room will look quite empty.
Although there is still a lot of work to do on this long list of reporting, I am gradually getting through it.
Friday, 27 March:
I rang West and Co, and spoke to Steve; it was very comforting to hear Mum's body had been embalmed, and she was dressed in the clothes we took round on Wednesday. The other thing I really appreciated was this: without me asking him anything, Steve told me exactly how they had dressed Mum, and had put her Heidi hat on, "...with the little button at the front, and the strings at the back..." That proved how well he had listened, and I was really happy and pleased about it.
I know Mum is at rest; we are also contented that she is in a good place and very much at peace.
In the past few days, I have fielded so many phone calls from dear friends and neighbours, as the news about Mum is spreading abroad.
I am also writing letters and e-mails, and sending Easter Cards. Because I always start writing Easter and Christmas cards so early, this year Mum also knew I was writing the Easter Cards, and that I was preparing to post them. Because she was still with us whilst I was doing all this, of course I included her when I signed every one! I've now also written letters to enclose with the cards, to explain why this is; but now it feels so strange, that I can't include "Mum" at the end of my letters.
Saturday, 28th March
My Birthday.
Well, when you lose someone, you then face a year of "Firsts..." my first Birthday without Mum, first Easter without Mum, Wendy's first birthday without Grandma, etc...
It is just that my birthday has come up very quickly on this list! and I do wish Mum could have been with me to celebrate it; but then, when I look back, we have had so many wonderful times together:
Mother's Day on Sunday, 22 March; Al's birthday on 28 January; New Year's Day; Boxing Day; Christmas Day; Mum's actual 100th Birthday on 28 October, which became nearly a week of celebrations, and of course her memorable Tea at the Ritz on the Saturday, 26 October, when she even had the Queen's birthday card on the table.
So today has been quiet. But I am happy and contented. I am loved and have my family around me, and that is all that matters.
Sunday, 29th March
Another quiet day, really; more letters, more phone calls, more trying to get used to not looking out for the ladies coming along at their usual time to get Mum up and dressed!
I am still thinking about checking on Mum to make sure she is o.k., and if she would like a cup of tea; and that I should soon be getting her dinner on, so that it will be ready after the ladies have come to get Mum up after her nap...
Because I have pretty sharp hearing, when I went to bed I would always leave the bedroom door open, so that I could hear Mum if she called out to me; I am still leaving the bedroom door wide open at night.
Thursday, 2 April 2020
Monday, 23 March - A Tidal Wave Of Arrangments
Monday, 23 March - A Tidal Wave Of Arrangements
When I got up at 7.00 a.m. and it was clear Mum had died, I rang Wendy; she answered immediately. She is very sensitive and knew her Grandma could pass at any time, so she was ready to drive over at once. She arrived very quickly; being so early, there was little traffic.
I rang 111, and held on for nearly an hour, but when there was still no answer, I dialled 999, and got through to the Ambulance Service.
I explained what had happened; Mum had died, and that it was an expected death. I had to smile, because the next question - which I knew the controller had to ask - was
"Is the patient still breathing?"
"No," I said, "My Mum's dead....."
and the lady said someone would be with us very quickly.
Within a few minutes, a Paramedic called Emma arrived; and I shall be writing to the Ambulance Service to praise her. She was kind, understanding, patient, professional - a perfect example of how you would expect someone to carry out all the checks that had to be done but without losing sight of the family who had just lost someone dear to them.
She ran all the tests on Mum - an ECG, checking her pulse, heart, pupils, and temperature; Mum was down to 28 degrees, and that was cold. She put Mum's time of death as 9.05 a.m.
I had also called Home Sweet Home Care, and asked if our regular ladies would be available to attend to Mum? Of course they were, and Vicky, Stacey and Carly arrived to wash and dress Mum for the last time. They - and we - ended up in tears. It's hard for everyone, and especially our lovely carers, when someone they have tended to so carefully and lovingly for so many years, dies.
Whilst Mum was being cared for, Emma went to her car and wrote up all the paperwork. She also tried to contact the Doctor, but couldn't get an answer; she went to the Surgery, but no-one answered the door. We know it is very difficult with the virus causing everything to go into lockdown, but nothing was too much trouble for Emma. Eventually, we managed to get through to the other Surgery, and they assured us people were definitely working in the one closest to us. Eventually Emma spoke to someone there, and requested a visit from Mum's GP so that she could provide a death certificate.
She gave us a folder with all the information she had written about Mum in it; there was information about people and organisations we could contact if we needed help and advice, and people to speak to if we wanted to talk about spiritual matters. There was no rush and she stayed with us until she was sure we were o.k and had everything we needed.
In the meantime, Vicky, Carly and Stacey had dressed Mum in a lovely clean peach nightie; they had combed her hair, and put in two pretty slides, one on each side. Mum looked so peaceful, lying on the pillows, and I saw how they tenderly placed a tissue under her chin as well. We used to do that, in case Mum had some phlegm in the night; she always had a tissue if she needed it.
We said prayers round Mum's bed, and presently, Vicky, Carly and Stacey had to leave; life goes on....
We had a cup of tea and some cornflakes.
Dr Banerjee arrived at about 1.30, and confirmed Mum had died, at the time when she had seen Mum. With my certainty that Mum passed at 1.00 a.m. when I saw her in the early hours this morning, it means there is a total of three opinions when Mum died; she would have found this highly amusing.
Whatever time is officially decided upon, I know Mum was gently fading for some time, but it is still hard. It is a sad time we have to go through.
Because Dr Banerjee hadn't seen Mum in the past 2 weeks, when she returned to the surgery, she had to check with the Coroner to confirm he was happy for her to issue a death certificate. Dr Banerjee called us shortly afterwards, to say all was well; we could collect the certificate straight away.
When Grandma died in 1985, out in Durban, we had her body flown back to England. We have a family grave in Kirkdale Cemetery in Liverpool, and this is where her eldest son, Austin, was buried in 1938; her husband, Mum's father, died in 1943, and we knew Grandma would want to be laid to rest with her family.
Walter Craven, Funeral Directors in Liverpool, organised everything beautifully for us. They collected her from the airport and made all the arrangements for us to meet the Vicar at St Cyprian's Church, where my Grandma used to worship when she was a girl - (and where she met Ernie Lewis, her first great love!) - so it would be lovely if we could hold Mum's service there as well, it would give us a strong thread of continuity.
A week or so ago, I rang Walter Craven and said, when the time came to arrange Mum's funeral, I would ask them to conduct it; the gentleman I spoke to found the card with everything they had done for Grandma 35 years ago, so they had a fair idea of what we would like for Mum. I also asked, if problems with travel continued for any length of time, would they be able to help us to postpone the funeral, if necessary? and I was assured that could be arranged.
Today, then, was the time, then, to make another phone call to Walter Craven, and set the arrangements for Mum's funeral in motion. With tighter restrictions in place, I knew it could not take place for perhaps 3 months, but to my dismay, Walter Craven now said the longest they could hold Mum for, was 3 weeks! With all the problems we are experiencing with the virus, clearly that would not be long enough. We can't do the funeral in one day; there is nowhere we could stay in Liverpool, that can serve us food, so it would be impossible to stay overnight. I was somewhat horrified when the suggestion was made that we could have Mum cremated, or have a burial without anyone present, other than a vicar. That was not our wish at all, and certainly not what Mum would have wanted. We are very prepared to wait.
Then I rang a local Funeral Directors, West and Coe, and within 20 minutes, they had set my mind at rest.
They would come and collect Mum in about an hour or so; they would embalm her, and look after her for 3 months to start with, and longer if need be. When, eventually, all the problems created by this virus are eased, and travel restrictions are over, we can arrange a proper funeral for Mum in Liverpool. We will ask Walter Craven to deal with the Liverpool end of the funeral, but in the meantime, West and Coe has really smoothed the path for us.
I felt we should stay in Mum's room until the gentlemen from West and Coe arrived. I played all the songs Mum knew and sang along to; we all sang with great gusto and Wendy played a few tunes as well.
At last, David and Liam arrived to collect Mum. They left us alone for a little while as we said more prayers for Mum; and then it was time for them to take Mum to the car; time to go.
When Mum was safely ensconced in the car, we all went out to say goodbye, and watched as they drove her away.
How strange it all is; and how quiet the house is.
I rang Registrar's Office and got an appointment for Wednesday morning; and then we sort of sat and took stock. I started to make a list of what I have to do - it is a long list.
We had already had discussions about how Mum would like the service to be when we can hold the funeral, and what hymns to sing. Wendy volunteered, "Praise My Soul, The King of Heaven;" I know Mum would like "All Things Bright and Beautiful;" Grandma also had "Abide With Me." Finally, we also agreed to include "Bind Us Together," which might be considered more suitable for a wedding, but the sentiments are equally valid for a funeral.
Wendy found out that the Revd. Ricky Panter, who conducted Grandma's service, retired in 2017, so we shall have someone new to meet.
When we can all travel again, we will go up to Liverpool for a day or so, to meet the Vicar and talk to him about Mum, and arrange the time and the music.
How quiet the house is, with so much to get used to. And we are still looking in on Mum, and seeing if she is o.k... and if she would like a cup of tea....
When I got up at 7.00 a.m. and it was clear Mum had died, I rang Wendy; she answered immediately. She is very sensitive and knew her Grandma could pass at any time, so she was ready to drive over at once. She arrived very quickly; being so early, there was little traffic.
I rang 111, and held on for nearly an hour, but when there was still no answer, I dialled 999, and got through to the Ambulance Service.
I explained what had happened; Mum had died, and that it was an expected death. I had to smile, because the next question - which I knew the controller had to ask - was
"Is the patient still breathing?"
"No," I said, "My Mum's dead....."
and the lady said someone would be with us very quickly.
Within a few minutes, a Paramedic called Emma arrived; and I shall be writing to the Ambulance Service to praise her. She was kind, understanding, patient, professional - a perfect example of how you would expect someone to carry out all the checks that had to be done but without losing sight of the family who had just lost someone dear to them.
She ran all the tests on Mum - an ECG, checking her pulse, heart, pupils, and temperature; Mum was down to 28 degrees, and that was cold. She put Mum's time of death as 9.05 a.m.
I had also called Home Sweet Home Care, and asked if our regular ladies would be available to attend to Mum? Of course they were, and Vicky, Stacey and Carly arrived to wash and dress Mum for the last time. They - and we - ended up in tears. It's hard for everyone, and especially our lovely carers, when someone they have tended to so carefully and lovingly for so many years, dies.
Whilst Mum was being cared for, Emma went to her car and wrote up all the paperwork. She also tried to contact the Doctor, but couldn't get an answer; she went to the Surgery, but no-one answered the door. We know it is very difficult with the virus causing everything to go into lockdown, but nothing was too much trouble for Emma. Eventually, we managed to get through to the other Surgery, and they assured us people were definitely working in the one closest to us. Eventually Emma spoke to someone there, and requested a visit from Mum's GP so that she could provide a death certificate.
She gave us a folder with all the information she had written about Mum in it; there was information about people and organisations we could contact if we needed help and advice, and people to speak to if we wanted to talk about spiritual matters. There was no rush and she stayed with us until she was sure we were o.k and had everything we needed.
In the meantime, Vicky, Carly and Stacey had dressed Mum in a lovely clean peach nightie; they had combed her hair, and put in two pretty slides, one on each side. Mum looked so peaceful, lying on the pillows, and I saw how they tenderly placed a tissue under her chin as well. We used to do that, in case Mum had some phlegm in the night; she always had a tissue if she needed it.
We said prayers round Mum's bed, and presently, Vicky, Carly and Stacey had to leave; life goes on....
We had a cup of tea and some cornflakes.
Dr Banerjee arrived at about 1.30, and confirmed Mum had died, at the time when she had seen Mum. With my certainty that Mum passed at 1.00 a.m. when I saw her in the early hours this morning, it means there is a total of three opinions when Mum died; she would have found this highly amusing.
Whatever time is officially decided upon, I know Mum was gently fading for some time, but it is still hard. It is a sad time we have to go through.
Because Dr Banerjee hadn't seen Mum in the past 2 weeks, when she returned to the surgery, she had to check with the Coroner to confirm he was happy for her to issue a death certificate. Dr Banerjee called us shortly afterwards, to say all was well; we could collect the certificate straight away.
When Grandma died in 1985, out in Durban, we had her body flown back to England. We have a family grave in Kirkdale Cemetery in Liverpool, and this is where her eldest son, Austin, was buried in 1938; her husband, Mum's father, died in 1943, and we knew Grandma would want to be laid to rest with her family.
Walter Craven, Funeral Directors in Liverpool, organised everything beautifully for us. They collected her from the airport and made all the arrangements for us to meet the Vicar at St Cyprian's Church, where my Grandma used to worship when she was a girl - (and where she met Ernie Lewis, her first great love!) - so it would be lovely if we could hold Mum's service there as well, it would give us a strong thread of continuity.
A week or so ago, I rang Walter Craven and said, when the time came to arrange Mum's funeral, I would ask them to conduct it; the gentleman I spoke to found the card with everything they had done for Grandma 35 years ago, so they had a fair idea of what we would like for Mum. I also asked, if problems with travel continued for any length of time, would they be able to help us to postpone the funeral, if necessary? and I was assured that could be arranged.
Today, then, was the time, then, to make another phone call to Walter Craven, and set the arrangements for Mum's funeral in motion. With tighter restrictions in place, I knew it could not take place for perhaps 3 months, but to my dismay, Walter Craven now said the longest they could hold Mum for, was 3 weeks! With all the problems we are experiencing with the virus, clearly that would not be long enough. We can't do the funeral in one day; there is nowhere we could stay in Liverpool, that can serve us food, so it would be impossible to stay overnight. I was somewhat horrified when the suggestion was made that we could have Mum cremated, or have a burial without anyone present, other than a vicar. That was not our wish at all, and certainly not what Mum would have wanted. We are very prepared to wait.
Then I rang a local Funeral Directors, West and Coe, and within 20 minutes, they had set my mind at rest.
They would come and collect Mum in about an hour or so; they would embalm her, and look after her for 3 months to start with, and longer if need be. When, eventually, all the problems created by this virus are eased, and travel restrictions are over, we can arrange a proper funeral for Mum in Liverpool. We will ask Walter Craven to deal with the Liverpool end of the funeral, but in the meantime, West and Coe has really smoothed the path for us.
I felt we should stay in Mum's room until the gentlemen from West and Coe arrived. I played all the songs Mum knew and sang along to; we all sang with great gusto and Wendy played a few tunes as well.
At last, David and Liam arrived to collect Mum. They left us alone for a little while as we said more prayers for Mum; and then it was time for them to take Mum to the car; time to go.
When Mum was safely ensconced in the car, we all went out to say goodbye, and watched as they drove her away.
How strange it all is; and how quiet the house is.
I rang Registrar's Office and got an appointment for Wednesday morning; and then we sort of sat and took stock. I started to make a list of what I have to do - it is a long list.
We had already had discussions about how Mum would like the service to be when we can hold the funeral, and what hymns to sing. Wendy volunteered, "Praise My Soul, The King of Heaven;" I know Mum would like "All Things Bright and Beautiful;" Grandma also had "Abide With Me." Finally, we also agreed to include "Bind Us Together," which might be considered more suitable for a wedding, but the sentiments are equally valid for a funeral.
Wendy found out that the Revd. Ricky Panter, who conducted Grandma's service, retired in 2017, so we shall have someone new to meet.
When we can all travel again, we will go up to Liverpool for a day or so, to meet the Vicar and talk to him about Mum, and arrange the time and the music.
How quiet the house is, with so much to get used to. And we are still looking in on Mum, and seeing if she is o.k... and if she would like a cup of tea....
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