I was holding my Mothers hand when she died. Ray, one of my four brothers, was in the
room at the same time. When the Doctor eventually arrived at Colleens unit where Mum
had been staying, he said, “she died of TMB”. I’d never heard of TMB but didn’t want to
appear foolish so I didn’t pursue it. Colleen is the only girl in our family and is a nurse so I
was fairly sure she would know.
I had been holding Mums hand for almost an hour. Couldn’t bear to let it go. It was strange,
even uncomfortable, to be holding her hand for that long. The feeling was foreign. Perhaps
I had never done so. The light was dimming and watching her face was like watching a
slowly sinking sun. Then she was still. Yet I waited for a word from her. Or a slow smile. But
there was nothing except stillness. I kept holding her hand. After some time I felt her hand
had grown cold and I released her fingers.
The Day Mum Left Us
“Mum has left us Ray”, and he hung his head and sobbed behind me. All that was left was
love. Hers was a life of love. Mum was eighty six when she died and although the end was
sudden, it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Our Mum was of Irish-German background but the
Irish shone through her entire life. Even her name, Moya, is a Celtic corruption of Mary.
As she headed into her eighties Mum slowly developed fainting spells which became more
frequent and severe. But she was active and tireless to the extent of walking five kms each
way to a morning weekday Mass in a distant suburban church. Our local church was only
two kms away but Mum insisted on her long, weekly, meditative walk to St Dominics. We all
knew the fainting spells were becoming a problem when a motorist noticed her sitting
beside the road. She didn’t know how she got there but she was about halfway between
home and the church and she wasn’t sure which way she was heading.
I’ve written before that Dad worked endlessly for his six kids but Mum
slaved. Day after day for sixty years. After Dad died aged eighty seven,
Mum left Melbourne to be nearer to Colleen on the Gold Coast. Getting
away from Victoria’s weather may have had something to do with it too.
The occasional fainting continued but without any fear being created and it was never
successfully diagnosed. Mum still walked each day and continually marvelled at the
endless sunshine and the green hills of the hinterland. She was confused at times but still
seemed indestructible to her family.
Colleen and her husband Ron had a unit adjacent to the beautiful Currumbin Creek. Mum moved into the spare bedroom and just loved the wide river views and the tropical
gardens. All the brothers visited occasionally and Mum seemed to thrive.
I left work around five pm that day and decided, on a whim, to visit
Mum as a surprise. Ray, the third son, was visiting at the time, so it was a chance to catch up with him as well. My mobile rang when I was a few kilometres from Currumbin. Ray sounded a little stressed and asked me to call in urgently as “Mum is having one of her turns and I’m not sure what to do.” He was relieved to learn that I was only three or four minutes away.
Mum was lying on the bed with her eyes closed. She was gently moaning and seemed to
be trying to talk. She was also rolling her head from side to side. Whenever she opened
her eyes there was no focus.
I sat beside her on the bed and held her hand. She immediately quietened. I asked
questions and hoped she would talk. Once or twice she seemed to lie still as though she
would speak but each time the head rolling and moaning would continue. Ray was really
disturbed but kept on watching. All this time I was hoping Colleen would come in from
work with her husband but Ray’s phone calls hadn’t reached her.
I felt inadequate but eventually I knew she was settling into herself as though preparing
for a long journey. Her hands never left mine. “You’re not leaving us, are you Mum?” I
asked her several times but she had already started on her last long walk. Very close to
six pm with the light giving up the fight, Mum gave up her fight with one long last sigh.
Colleen arrived home shortly after and sat alone with Mum. The last and hardest goodbye
of all. When I asked her soon after what TMB was she didn’t know. So I rang the Doctor.
“Too many birthdays.”
TMB is a very nice, gentle way to die. And Mum, who during her entire life walked with
certainty to her meeting with her God, couldn’t have wished for a better finish. Except, I
suspect, that the hands which finally held hers should’ve been Colleen's.
John A Wilson, October 2015
Comments