9. Sep, 2018

Angel dust

The rose gold chain presses lightly against the tender skin of my neck. As I run my fingers along its bumpy surface I can count each link, it used to hold a little gold spinner, now it supports the weight of her spirit.

I've become accustomed to feeling mum's presence in my chest. For eighteen long months, it rose and fell with the heaviness of her illness. Respiratory failure is difficult to watch for most, but for a child and grandchild, the pain smacks like a lightning bolt deep in your heart.

The grey walls of the bedroom expanded and contracted in time with the oxygen concentrator as it pumped life-supporting air into her lungs. The room frigid, as the air conditioner belted out a breeze akin to a Himalayan snowstorm. My fingers...blue. Rugged up in layers I sat by her bed frozen, listening to the thumping and swishing of the machine prolonging her suffering.

She would stir often from her restless dozing. Her attempts at sleep interrupted by a brain confused by her disordered oxygen exchange. Flushed by a body unable to regulate its own temperature, “the fan”, she would gasp, “get me the fan”, and on and on it would whir into her face spinning forth a swirl of frosty icicles, our arms screaming in pain as we waved it with increasing anguish.

With her body tiring and her will fading, the room swelled with the presence of family and friends. At one point it was “tradies hour”. Her doting grandsons, grubby from their day's work, dressed in Hi-vis gear, sat on the floor by her bed watching with sorrow and sadness as they each, in turn, wished they could take away her pain. Four sombre faces awash with tears revealing their own internal torture.

They took turns holding her hand, they declared their love, they made silent promises, they made open promises, and united, they began to grieve for a love and loss like no other, as they witnessed their Gran slowly slipping from their grasp.

It would be days before she left us, but she knew they were there, she felt the love in their presence...in the room. It was a sight to behold and one that will stay with me forevermore.

We washed her, we fed her, we medicated her, we nursed her, we kept a vigil at her bedside but most of all we adored and loved her. She had given us so many years, the least we could do was tend to her in her final days.

Growing weaker by the hour we knew she was ready. We had had so many conversations in the preceding days. Always organised, she discussed her affairs and wishes. We talked about love and life, about love lost and love found, about regrets and heartache and about acceptance and forgiveness. Laid to rest were ghosts of a difficult past and promises and declarations of unconditional love made.

We couldn't give her enough. So intent were we on doing the right thing, we became distressed at her cries for more relief. Her struggle became such that we had to call in the team. It was time for us to become the loving supportive family and not her carers. A relief and yet a severe and devastating blow.

Did we fail her? This question keeps running over and over in my mind.

The walls were slowly contracting...just like her lungs and they were squeezing the life from us all.

Watching her leaving the family home of almost sixty years was, I think, the most difficult thing I have witnessed in my entire life. A decision was made to transfer her into palliative care where she could get the critical care she needed to make her more comfortable in her final hours.

We gave her our all, we had done our best, she was done...we were done. We sat with her for hours as her spirit gently rose from her lifeless body. Our hearts filled with grief, her heart finally at peace and at rest.

Now she can feel the gentle rise and fall...the gentle rise and fall...of healthy lungs as mine expand and contract.

Floating around my neck is a rose gold pendant circled with glittering diamantes. At the bottom of the pendant lies an opening, and housed within the vessel is a fine silky dust that I know would shimmer in the sweeping rays of a spring morning’s sunlight just as her soul does. She went away for a time, but now she is back with me again.