Wednesday 3 March 2021



by Amanda Jones 

with Golden Milk 

Six long months. The hospital became a home from home. Washing, dressing, liaising, advocating, fighting and loving. Mum had a mild heart attack in January 2005 but then a series of TIAs regularly. Three times she went home. Three times she was rushed back in under the familiar blue lights the very next day. 

I spoke to her on the Friday night the last time. She managed a month at home for her final wish. Then on the Saturday she fell unconscious and went straight to ICU. 

She waited. We had spoken about death. It was a rare relief knowing exactly what her wishes were and in this time I knew. An unspoken instinct. Calm. Peace. 

A brief break, perhaps home for something to eat? No! I was adamant I wanted to stay. And so it was as she died within minutes. 

Watching her blood pressure drop. The machine beeps. Slower and slower.

I stroke her arm. ‘It’s OK sweetheart, don’t be frightened, let it go now’ and she dies. I close her eyes. 

Years later I watch my partner die. He rips the IV line out, blood spurting everywhere. His oxygen levels are so low, confusion avails and then the morphine, calming, a reassuring presence of relaxation. The same, peaceful expression as life leaves.

Where do you go when that last bit of energy leaves you? Waiting until the end. Peace. A secret listening. 

About the author 

Amanda has been writing since childhood and along with short stories she writes her Missy Dog charity series, poetry, non-fiction and horror. You can find her here: 




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