Some of you will already know that the reason for my (longer than anticipated) blog hiatus is that I lost my mother. She was 91 years old, and suffering from horrible arthritis, but she was still living independently with help from my brother and sister-in-law, and her mind was still pretty much A1. She was getting rather good at malapropisms, and creative pronunciation, and her memory occasionally played tricks on her, but what the hell?
On the day of the Royal Wedding (which she would have certainly have watched with delight) she got herself her dinner, and when she had finished eating, she got up to make a cup of tea, had a massive stroke and lay unconscious on the floor beside her chair all night, where my poor brother found her the next morning, and deduced by the empty plate and lack of tea cup what had happened. She didn’t have time to call for help. Her phone was right there on the low table beside her.
She lived for five days in hospital but never came round, and it’s a very hard thing to do, to visit someone whose body is still there but whose mind has essentially gone.
One the first day she struggled to open her eyes when asked to do so, barely managing to crack the lids. The familiar blue eyes that I caught a glimpse of did not show any recognition – in fact, they were quite blank. She did squeeze my hand at intervals, less and less strongly, for the succeeding three days, though only with her left hand, because she was quite unable to move any of her right side.
However, the doctors told me the scans showed that she’d lost two thirds of her left hemisphere and that she would be unable to recover, so they withdrew fluids and began giving her only pain relief and drugs to keep her ‘comfortable’.  If it’s a hard thing to visit a seriously ill, unresponsive person, it’s doubly hard to watch your lovely, bright and chatty mother dying slowly of dehydration … though we all agreed that she wouldn’t want to wake up if she was anything less than fully compos mentis.
I stayed close by, in a hotel, and the Stroke Unit allowed me to get there early and leave as late as I liked. Most days I wasn’t alone with Mum for long. People came from London, from Devon, from Wolverhampton, from Norfolk, from wherever they were. One relative, a vicar, flew back from Spain and drove directly to her bedside to conduct a short service. Some couldn’t be there, of course, either because they were prevented, or because they simply couldn’t bear to be, but that was OK. She had a lot of visitors, and we chatted to her and held her hand and told her we loved her, and my sister-in-law had the bright idea of tuning the hospital radio to her beloved Radio Essex, and we also talked and laughed among ourselves because if she was aware that we were there and was able to hear us, we wanted her to experience just a little normality, with her family behaving as they always had done – although at times, of course, we cried, too.
Mum and I didn’t always see eye to eye. We had our different ideas on things, and I got annoyed with her for still thinking of me as her ‘baby’ and for talking endlessly about people I didn’t know, and no doubt she got annoyed with me for not behaving as she thought I should, and not listening to her properly, but she was my Mum and I loved her despite everything, as I know she loved me.  To say that she leaves a big hole behind is an understatement – and so many people have told me so since she left us: relatives, people she knew from work (yes, she was still in touch with many of them, even at ninety-one), and friends she’d made, both decades ago and more recently.
I want to thank all of those who left kind messages on my last post, and sent condolences and sympathy. It does, somehow, help enormously to know that people have been thinking of me during this horrible time.  I don’t want to go on about just how horrible it was, but one reason I haven’t posted before now is that I’ve been suffering physical symptoms of stress and grief. For the first couple of weeks, the ones between her death and her funeral, I had pretty much constant migraine, with five, bigger, ‘classical-migraine-with-aura-and-word-salad’ episodes. I dared not drive, and I couldn’t use the computer for more than a few minutes without the flashes of light and almost-hallucinations getting too much to cope with.
As I’m able to, I’ll post some short pieces about Mum and her life. It’s been an interesting and full one, and she’s always been true to herself. And just for that alone, she won’t have anything much to apologise for at the Pearly Gates, I think.
Some of the family have been suggesting (with very little subtlety) that I might take on her role as ‘keeper of the family together’, or to put it bluntly, matriarch. Mum was the spider at the centre of the web, who always knew whose birthday it was and who was ill or had troubles or joys before anyone else. But those shoes of hers are Very Big Shoes to fill, and I might find I can’t walk in them.
*The shoes pictured above, by the way, are the ones she wore at her 90th birthday party, where she was – as always – a star.
Although u feel u may never fit her shoes the ones u wear will and u already have inherited many fine qualities from your mum and enchanted them with yours u are and will already be loved by as many people as your mum and I include myself in that and if u need another pair of shoes to walk behind to help I am here xx adrian
It is so hard to watch someone you love fade away, and it is so hard when they are gone and you feel that loss. For your mum though, life would not have been a true life, and now she can rest with no worries. Strength to you and your loved ones, and joy in the life she had.
Carol´s last [type] ..Everything has a shelf life
So sorry. Of course I knew but losing your mother at any age is a terrible loss. Mine was killed at 62 years of age and I miss her still. What you did was very brave I’m sure and not without it’s twinge of guilt, my heart goes out to you.
Baino´s last [type] ..Friday Fuckwit
I am so sorry to hear this. Although it was many years ago that we lost mum, I totally know what you went through, and are going through. Having nursed mum at home for many weeks. Mum being put into a forced coma (her choice) and us girls sitting with her and waiting for the end, was almost unbearable. A mother’s shoes are huge shoes to fill, but I’m sure you will do a great job of filling them.
Babs´s last [type] ..Hey! Mr Postman – You needn’t have bothered
Adrian – Thank you so much, my dear. That was a very sweet comment and I do appreciate it. xx
Carol – So very true, and good to hear it put into words. Thank you.
Baino – Sixty two is no age, is it? You’ve had a lot of grief in your life.
Thank you .. Yes, though it was a medical decision and not up to us, I do still feel guilty. I know she wouldn’t have wanted to live like that, but still … *Sigh*
Babs – So you know exactly what it was like – I’m sorry that you do.
Thanks for that.
A very touching tribute Jay. Sorry your health has been under more stress. You don’t have to be her to do your family and friends proud. We all walk in our own shoes and you my friend are doing a fine job in yours.Sending huge respect and love to you my matie.
Jay I am so very sorry. What is there to say about what you are going through that can possibly help…except that your Mom raised a wonderful daughter and a part of her will always be here…in you.
Take care of yourself, this is most important right now in in a time of such grief and stress. Know that we are here for you and will always be happy to listen (read) your thoughts, so do share them as writing is though to be very theraputic.
Bless you and your family.
Love and Hugs,
Robin (aka Sistertex)
Sistertex at Spacial Peepol´s last [type] ..Connected At The Hip
Beautiful tribute Jay.
I also had to make the decision to turn off the life support for my mother. It’s not even been a month yet. I’m glad you are able to write about it, I’ve not made it that far yet. ((HUGS))
Jeni – Thanks, Jeni. It’s very kind of you to say that – and I know you’re right, that we all walk in our own shoes, it’s just that compared to Mum, I don’t seem to have done very much with my life. Thanks also for the hugs and – especially! – for the respect! I’m really touched. xx
Sistertex – It’s a comforting thought that I carry a little bit of Mum, thanks for that – and also for reminding me that writing is therapeutic. I don’t want to bore everyone with my unhappiness, so I won’t share too much of that, but I hope that I can write some of Mum’s stories to make them interesting and amusing. I do feel the need to get them ‘out there’! Thanks for being kind enough to want to read them – and thanks for the hugs and love.
Heather – What a very terrible decision to have to make. At least in our case, the doctors told us what they had decided, but we were given the impression that had we disagreed, there wouldn’t have been much we could have done about it.
I’m so sorry that you also have lost your mother in such terrible circumstances. A month is nothing .. it will be a while before you can think clearly about it, yet alone write. As much as anything, I do so to try to channel my stress in a useful way, because it still needs very little to trigger a migraine episode. I suppose it’s my body’s way of handling it all. Hugs to you too, we need them, don’t we?
Oh Jay, your mother’s shoes are very individual. And funny too. They brought a smile to my face. The thought that she wore them on her 90th birthday…
It says a lot about her that so many people visited her in hospital.
I’m sorry that you suffer from such terrible headaches. And we will not get bored if you share your pains with us m’dear. Because we care. Well, I care and I’m sure all your other loyal blogfriends do to. So!
Hugs my friend,
hope your headaches will calm down.
carolina´s last [type] ..Milk
Carolina – Thank you so much, Carolina. Yes, I loved those shoes, and they were typical Mum. And yes, it does say a lot about her, she was loved by so many people.
I think the migraines will settle as the stress reduces .. I hope so anyway! They’re driving me nuts! It’s not so much the headaches as the visual problems that go with them. *Sigh*
Thanks for the hugs.
So sorry to hear what happened to your mum – so sad for you, but good, in a way, for her that she didn’t come round to find she had terrible post-stroke symptoms. Thinking of you.
What a beautiful and touching post, Judy. As someone who has held my mother’s hand as she quietly slipped away, I feel your pain. Your wonderful blog friends have said it all but please know I’m here to listen even if you just want to vent about something in everyday life.
Sending big hugs.
Silverback´s last [type] ..The Great North Swim
what a marvelous mem0ry the shoes.I hope you will be thought of with such ardor to your children someday.. me too..sandy
sandy´s last [type] ..Todays Flowers -Presently around my Cenrtal Florida yard
Jay, I didn’t comment straight away as, well, how do you convey your sympathy and caring and wanting to help but not being able to in mere words? But I see your other commenters have managed to.
I lost my wonderful Mum at age 46 from cancer. Far too young. 91 was too young for your Mum. She sounds like such a character and certainly left her mark on the world. Don’t worry about trying to fill her shoes, wear your own and you’ll be just fine.
Am looking forward to reading more about your dear Mum and I hope you get rid of those damn migraines and some of the stress sooner rather than later. Big cyber hug ((((Jay))))
Greyhounds CAN Sit´s last [type] ..Wordless Wednesday – It Was SO Cold The Other Night!
Daphne – Thanks, Daphne. You’re right. She lingered … but from her point of view, I figure she was in a twilight world, maybe a bit like when you first start to come round from an anaesthetic? I hope so, anyway.
Silverback – Thank you so much, you’re a real friend.
Losing a mother like this is very tough, that’s for sure, and I think yours was a lot younger than mine – not that we’re ever ready to lose them, but Mum was over ninety, which is still quite an achievement, even these days. Still, like you, I doubt the memory will ever leave me.
Sending hugs back.
Sandy – Yes indeed – it’s something to be remembered with love by so many, isn’t it? We can only hope.
Greyhounds CAN Sit – Oh, no … 46 is far, far too young.
I am so sorry. My brother died suddenly at 43 (in 1988) and his eldest daughter, who was 15 at the time, still cries so easily about it. Losing a parent so young is extraordinarily hard. At least I do feel that Mum had a good long life.
Thank you so much for your very kind words – and for saying you’d like to hear more about her. That’s very sweet of you.
I had tears in my eyes while reading this, because it brought back so many memories for me and my father’s passing.
Beautiful tribute, Jay.
And I could hear the love and admiration you had for your mother in your words….
” she was my Mum and I loved her despite everything, as I know she loved me.
Yes, she did.
I know what you’re going through right now, because it was the same for me. So, if I can share any advice with you it would be to just allow yourself to BE. Grieving has a way of walking you through the stages; bringing you to a place of peace.
Sending you a HUGE hug, my friend…..
(((((( Jay ))))))
You take care, okay?
X
Ron´s last [type] ..OkayLets Be Gay Today!
Ron – You’re very sweet – and yes, understanding. I know you do understand, because of your Dad. You’re also right, of course, but we all want to rush the stages of grief so we can come out the other side, don’t we?
Thanks for the hug – I do very much appreciate it.
There’s never a right time to lose your mother but she will stay with you and in you and in all who carry her genes. She lives on in others’ memories of her. Just this last weekend my 12-year-old grandson spoke about Grandma Olive, my mother, his great-grandmother, who died aged 97, when he was less than three years old. It was very touching.
I hope the headaches ease soon and the happy memories of your lovely mum overwhelm the sadness.
jabblog uk´s last [type] ..ABC Wednesday W is for Waterloo and Wellington and Wet Weather
Hugs, Jay…
Oh Jay, what can I say? Well, first, it sounds like your Mother had a wonderful life; blessed with friends, family and interests that kept her active to the end. What more can we ask of life? I too am trying hard to hold back tears while reading your obvious pain of loss, and for that I am sorry. I hope you are feeling better.
Don’t worry about filling anyone’s shoes! Wear your own; you already have a piece of her inside you to carry on. That and her memory will be enough.
Looking forward to hearing some great stories. Be well.
Maureen´s last [type] ..The Circle Of Life
Jabblog – Thanks, sweetie. And what a lovely story about your twelve year old grandson! Clearly he remembers his Grandma Olive with love and affection, no matter that he was very young when you lost her.
Jeannine – Thanks, Jeannine. I’ll take all the hugs I can get. xx
Maureen – Thank you so much. I am beginning to feel better, though still migrainey. It’ll take a while, I think, to get back to normal. Yes, Mum had a good life, and I told her so, the day she died – I knew in my heart it wouldn’t be long and I thought I should tell her a few things so she could go in peace.
I will write those stories! Watch this space.
I am so sad to hear about your great loss Jay, but your mum will never leave you, she will forever be part of you. My mum has been gone for twenty-seven years and I still miss her so much. The pain gets less but the longing to hug her never leaves.
I look forward to reading all about her as I know she was something special to you and your family.
May her beautiful shoes bring you comfort when you look at them, but you walk so well in the shoes that she gave you when you were born.
Love Leeta XXX
Dear Jay – first of all I am so sorry to read that you have lost your dear Mum. You have paid her such a lovely and loving tribute and I feel sure she would be very proud of her “little girl”.
Some of the things you have said about your mum remind me so much of my relationship with my own mum (now 89).
I do hope you soon find things a little easier to deal with and feel sure that your many happy memories will help you and your family through the coming weeks and months.
Sending hugs and love
Anne xx
Oh Jay, I am so sorry and I hope that your grief heals very quickly and leaves you with happy and amazing memories.
You may remember that this was exactly what happened to my lovely mum while I was away and she was staying with my sister. She too lost all use of one side and remained with us for five years struggling to understand what had happened. It was such a difficult time without a happy ending.
We talked about your mum when I visited you that time – in a way it is a blessing that if she couldn’t recover – she didn’t suffer any more – I’ll be thinking of you and if you need a chat you know where I am. Keep Safe x
Dear Jay, i have been away from my own blog (and from other blogs) for a while and had just started to ease myself back when I read your – brave and beautifully written – post. I’m so, so sorry to hear your sad news. You did exactly what my daughter and I did, 16 years ago, in the two weeks after my lovely and much-loved mum suffered what was to be a fatal stroke. You sat with her and you talked and laughed – may all our final memories be as good and as natural and normal as this.
For the really tough days, don’t forget that wonderful homeopathic remedy for times of grief, loss, separation, bereavement – Ignatia. If you want more details, just email me.
Thinking of you.
60 Going On 16´s last [type] ..Summer, not in the city
Leeta – It’s been a lot less time, of course, but I keep wanting to ring Mum, and for some reason I expect her to ring me. I suppose it’s human ..
I will definitely write a few pieces about Mum, but it’s proving more difficult than I thought just now, so I’ll slot them in where I can. Thanks so much for the sympathy and understanding – and for saying such nice things.
Anne – Thank you for the hugs! I do appreciate them.
We all have quite complex relationships with our mothers, don’t we? And for the lucky few, there is no friction, but for most of us I think there is, at least a little. It’s something you have to understand from both sides, I think, and I’ve told my boys that if I should suddenly drop dead, they aren’t to feel guilty about anything at all – not what they might have done and didn’t, and certainly not for any emotions or negative thoughts. We all have them and as mothers we understand it in our children … it’s just perhaps not so easy the other way round.
Kate – What happened to your poor Mum (and you) was worse, I think. It was what the nursing staff told us could happen, and we all agreed it would be a horrible, horrible thing for my Mum to suffer, so we must be glad that she was spared.
Thank you so much for you sympathy and understanding. As I’m sure you’ll remember, it really does help.
60 Going On 16 – Ah, so you understand perfectly .. I’m sorry that you do. It’s a very difficult thing to live through, isn’t it? And sometimes it hits the young harder, doesn’t it?
Thank you so much. After my two beloved dogs died so close to each other, a friend suggested that I buy the appropriate gemstone for loss and grief, and – whether it was suggestion, or just that it was comforting to roll it in my fingers and hold it in pocket – I think it did help a little. I’m coping OK now. The migraines are less, and I can step back a little and think that perhaps at 91, it wasn’t such a bad way to go.
I am sorry Jay, I didn’t know what had happened, I am sure she will leave a huge hole in your life, but that in itself tells you how special she was to you xxx love and hugs
Moon x
Moon´s last [type] ..Matej at 10 months
Moon – Thanks, Moon. You’re absolutely right, of course, and the hole she leaves is a very good testimony to her character and personality.
Thanks for the love and hugs!
Oh no. Oh, Jay. I am so terribly sorry to hear about the passing of your mother. My WHOLE HEART goes out to you. Sending you a million comforting hugs. xoxoxo
meleah rebeccah´s last [type] ..Dear Common Sense,
Meleah – Thank you so much, Meleah. Needless to say, I can still use the hugs!
Oh, I’m so sorry to hear about your mother. How wonderful that so many people were able to come be with her in her final hours. I’m sure on some level she probably sensed all the love in the room. This may seem like an odd time to be like, “Here, check out this link,” but if you haven’t already seen it, Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor’s TED talk about her stroke is something that I think might provide some comfort to people who have lost loved ones to stroke. http://www.ted.com/talks/jill_bolte_taylor_s_powerful_stroke_of_insight.html
It’s not in this clip, but I’ve also heard her talk about how in touch she was with people’s energy and intentions toward her once her ability to interpret their speech was disabled. It sounds like your mother was surrounded by good intentions, and I hope she was aware of all of it.
Dreamybee´s last [type] ..June 2010 Vacation Cont’d: Yosemite-Day One: Orientation
Dreamybee – Thank you, yes, I hope so too. I do believe that people who are in a coma can sense things, and often they can hear, too. We’ll never know how much of that ability was compromised in my Mum’s case, but we do what we feel is right at the time, and we all felt that it was important that we be there, and bring love and laughter to a grim situation.
I’ll check out the links.