In Memoriam

In Memoriam

And so it's over. My mother died on Wednesday the 27^th of June. I had been forewarned in time and so was able to be at her home with her when she died. Her increasing weakness had long heralded the end. I would merely like to record here what I said at her funeral.

“As most of you here know, Mum looked after me or out for me for all my life. When I was young, she over-protected me, without meaning to. She would say to me then, and continued to say it until I was drawing my pension: have you got a clean handkerchief and have you combed your hair? Because, as she would say, suppose you had an accident and had to be taken to hospital; what would the doctors think if my hair wasn't straight or they found me with a dirty handkerchief? Perhaps there is an NHS warning out to doctors now: before brain surgery, check state of handkerchief. It was something I had to bear, but a token of her love for me, which I never doubted.

When I got to Bristol University I was told a story by one of my tutors there. He said that, a few years previously, he had received a letter from a student's mother asking him to watch over her son especially carefully. Because, she said, he had never been away from home before, apart from five years in the navy. That could have been my mother.

Mum meant the world to me. Not only did she bring me up single-handed, she supported me absolutely when I most needed it. She scrimped and saved to get me through university. After Doreen left, the help she gave me in making a home for Natalie and Carl was immeasurable; I don't know how I would have coped without it. She even, when she wanted to marry Bill, asked my permission; said she wouldn't do it if I didn't like him.

Not only did she support me, she delighted in my successes when I had them. My O level results brought her to tears of joy and she was similarly delighted when I got my degree. She loved my early success at ICL, even if she couldn't understand why I left such a good, safe company; what's a more challenging job and 50% hike in salary, after all?

Mum and I continued with our understandings and misunderstandings throughout her life. But it is to her that I owe my love of nature, the countryside and gardening, and good food and drink, things that have stayed with me throughout my life. That and much, much more. I owe her everything.

I had known for some time that her life was in danger, from at least four years ago when aortic stenosis was diagnosed. She was fully aware that her life might end at any moment but carried on regardless until old age finally weakened her, to the extent that she could no longer continue doing anything she loved. At the beginning of this year it became clear that she could not live much longer. I could not bear the thought of being with her and waiting for her to die but neither could I bear the thought of not being with her when she did die. In the end, I was lucky in coming over when I did. When I saw Mum on the Tuesday evening it was clear she was dying; I knew it and so did she. She couldn't even raise her eyes to watch the birds she so loved outside her window. We managed a little chat, between breaths and sometimes tearfully, about the good times and I got her some strawberries and cream before she went to sleep, apparently happy. The next morning we continued until, around 11 o'clock, she closed her eyes and said: “I'm going now son”. I held her hand and continued talking to her; she died ten hours later.

I was devastated when she finally stopped breathing. But, really, I'm happy, even if I don't look it. On my way across from France I had dreaded the thought of maybe having to persuade her to go into a home. That never happened. Mum had a life that was sometimes hard but she enjoyed it and was always upbeat, cheerful. Finally, she wanted the end and the end was as she wanted. She died peacefully, in her own home, and, I believe, in her own good time. She was totally exhausted and had simply had enough. She will be with me for the rest of my life.”