12th October 2019. I knew Mum was ill but I didn't expect it to be her last day on this earth. I thought she'd still be around now, you always think there is more time.
Mum had a lung disease called pulmonary sarcoidosis. It's quite rare and she had it for over a decade. Gradually, over the years, she lost the ability to enjoy life the way she used to. Dad became her full time carer, she eventually needed oxygen 24 hours a day, trips out became less and less. March this year was the last time she went out with my Dad. After that, it exhausted her so much, and the amount of oxygen she used was increasing, it was better to stay put, so she managed to shuffle between the bedroom and the living room. Even that exhausted her. I used to call her every night on my drive home from work. Some days she was bright and chatty, other days she could hardly gasp a word to me. Visits also tired her out, so they became shorter, but she used to love seeing me, and my partner Jason.
A few things happened in the weeks running up to Mum's death. She had a "funny turn". She didn't want to see a Doctor, she was terrified of being taken into hospital and being kept there. She would much rather be at home. Her funny turn consisted of losing the ability to speak, read and write for a couple of days. I got mad, saying she should see a Doctor, it wasn't normal, I was convinced she had had a stroke. What I didn't know at this time was that Mum had signed a DNR (do not resuscitate), so maybe this was part of her thinking, maybe she knew that her time was coming. I didn't find out about the DNR until after she died. Mum, and Dad, tried to protect me as much as they could with how ill she was. In some ways I'm glad, I get to remember her in lovely ways. It's very different for my Dad however. He still won't go into many details, but the last 72 hours Mum was with us were very very difficult for him, as her primary carer at 77 years old.
The day before Mum died, my best friend from growing up sent me a text, asking if my Mum was OK. Her parents live 2 doors down, and there had been an ambulance outside the house all morning. I immediately phoned home and spoke to my Dad. He had called 111 twice, but they had stabilized her and she was ill but OK. I asked if I should come home, I live about an hour and a half away from my parents, but he said Mum was tired and didn't really want any visitors. OK, I said, but we will visit tomorrow. He agreed.
The next day, I phoned about lunchtime, to see how Mum was and to organise coming over. Dad had had to call 999 and were there when I called. They were working on her and were probably taking her in and he would call me from the hospital. He did, they had stabilized her again, and were waiting for a bed. He didn't really give me any details, and he would call me when he got home and tell me what was going on. Jason was going to a gig in the evening with a friend, and I was staying home. I said I didn't think we would need to go over, but he said if I did, to call him and he would come with me. I didn't hear from my Dad for hours, I kept calling the house phone, but with no reply.
At 7.45pm I finally got hold of him. He sounded stressed. He had just got home and immediately got an urgent call from the hospital to go back. I asked if I needed to come. He wouldn't give me an answer. I screamed at him, this is my Mum, don't protect me. He told me to drive safely. I knew, right then, with him not stopping me coming it was going to be bad. I frantically tried to get hold of Jason, and eventually did. I picked him up from his concert and we drove over to the hospital. We didn't talk much. I didn't want the radio on. I was terrified. She's gone, she's gone she's gone, I kept thinking. We parked up and I didn't want to get out. I didn't want to walk in and be told what I thought I already knew. A deep breath, a hold of Jason's hand, we walked in to find Dad.
We were walking down a very white bright corridor, all of them looked the same. Dad appeared from a door. I knew, as soon as I saw him, she had gone. "It's too late, we were all too late" he said. He hadn't got there in time either. The three of us kind of collapsed against each other, tears flowing. Dad asked me if I wanted to see Mum. I said yes immediately. I really regret it now. We walked into the ward, she was in a bed with the curtains pulled round. We slipped through one of them and I gasped and turned almost immediately away, but the image is going to haunt me forever. She looked so small, and grey, and her mouth was wide open. I wish I could erase the memory of seeing her like that. That was not my Mum.
We walked out of the ward, Dad thanking all the nurses, who, by the way, were all amazing. Thank you to everyone one at Hull Royal and the NHS, you couldn't have helped any more than you did. And we kind of stood in the corridor. What now?
I always imagined how I would react when I was told my Mum had died. I thought I would immediately fall apart, collapse in a heap on the floor, screaming. The reality was quite different. I was quite calm. Dad was obviously in shock, he was hardly showing any emotion at all. I expected everything to be frantic when someone so close dies, when, in actual fact, there's not a lot to do. It was around 10pm on a Saturday night. We drove back to my parents house and stayed with my Dad for a couple of hours. I don't remember what we talked about. I guess looking back now I was numb. I drove the hour and a half back home and crawled into bed. I was exhausted.
When I woke up the next morning, for a second, I didn't remember. And then the tears came.