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:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/amandababerauthor
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/amanda_jones_aka_baber_author
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