Families are a strange breed. Yet it seems to be consistent no matter what country, what culture, perhaps what planet that they live in.
I have left Gump to fend for himself in the good ole USA, as my mother was recently put in the hospital. She was placed in a hospice ward, so you can surmise the situation without me going into details.
My Mum is commonly known as “The Duchess”…. many of you have met her over the years, and once met, never forgotten. I flew into Heathrow Airport having sat for 7.5 hours between an East Indian man who kept picking his nose before falling asleep, and a nicer gentleman who fell into a deep coma after take-off…I spent most of the flight awake, and needing to pee……….Arriving at Heathrow, I got in the immigration line with approximately half the population of China, met Colin (the bro-in-law) and we bolted southwest of London towards the beautiful town of Poole, in the county of Dorset.
Poole is a seaside town, and it has the distinction of having the second largest natural harbor in the world, second only to Sydney Harbour. This area of England is affectionately known as the ‘English Riviera’, it truly is a spectacular place. There are lovely beaches, rugged cliffs topped with velvet grasses and always the haunting echo of crying seagulls. But of course I have seen none of that…..After almost 2 weeks of being home, the only scenery I have gazed upon is a hospital ward, various cretinous types riding the local bus, numerous bars of chocolate and of course yummy fish and chips.
En route to Poole from Heathrow Airport, my brother-in-law who I call Slimo, was good enough to pass by the town of Kingston-Upon-Thames to pick up my Aunt Bet, my mother’s younger sister by 18 months. Bet, is 81, and has always been the independent one, the career girl, the naughty girl and an absolute hoot. Bet has been having a great deal of trouble with her memory lately. In fact most of the time she spent with me in Poole, she actually thought I was my auntie Audrey (because we have similar hair and seem a bit hippy). Slimo got to her house with me helping with directions from my Xanex induced haze. We scooped up Bet, she threw a packet of kit-kats at me, claiming “I remembered how much you liked chocolate!” (this of course being pre-Audrey confusion….)
When we got to the hospital (2 hours’ drive from Bet’s flat), my heart was pounding. We made our way down to the hospice ward, and I was worried to see what I would find. Mum had been so ill, so depressed, the call I had to come home was of the utmost urgency. We walked into the large ward and there were three other women laying in beds, and yes, there was the Duchess…sitting bolt upright, holding hands with her boyfriend Ray. She glanced at him and said “Is that Debbie?’ smiled a big hello, and then greeted her long lost sister as though she was the one that had just flown thousands of miles across a vast ocean, and not just had a quick drive up the M3…….
Mum, a statuesque 5’7” woman had somehow become a smaller, shriveled up version of herself with a drastic weight loss due to her illness. Still the same grin, the same bright mischief in her eyes, masked by the cloudy veil of Alzheimer’s. Ever the Duchess, she was the focal point of the room, never mind the other women laying in solemn dignity with disgusting disease eating the life from their limbs. Mum shone like a candle, and everyone felt the pull, like the proverbial moth to the flame.
Have you ever spent time in a Hospice Ward? I hadn’t, and what will always stay in my mind will be the amazing grace and humanity, the endless pouring of love and kindness from the nursing staff of that place. No big bucks getting paid here, one of the negatives of socialized medicine, but these nurses are in it for love and compassion of their fellow man, not to boost their bank accounts. I sat in quiet reflection most days, watching the patients, talking with mum’s roommates while never speaking the words going through my head. These women were dying…not having a bad day, they were actually dying. Yet they would comment on my hair, my outfit, my mother….and I would look in their eyes and feel totally inconsequential and weak. These ladies held their heads high, and although they might say they hoped to get a few more months with their loved ones, they would smile and offer me a chocolate….I felt humbled by them, and silently wished that I might be that brave.
Meanwhile the Duchess showed none of the sophisticated behavior of the other patients, mindfully oblivious of the severity of her illness (the only blessing of Alzheimer’s), she bragged about being able to go to the loo unassisted (she likes her personal space), complained about the state of her hair, and openly told everyone that is was good being in the hospital and that she liked being the centre (English spelling) of attention.
For the next five days my aunt and I spent every day with my mum. We would wake in the hotel room we shared (that in itself could fill this blog), we would eat a wonderfully hearty (and complimentary) breakfast, and then walk our mile trek through the middle of the town up the hill to the hospital. The walking was good, but I would always get out of breath trying to keep pace with my 81 year old auntie…….Bet cracked me up on an hourly basis, which was much needed comic relief due to the severity of the situation. She, like her sister, has memory issues. Every single day I had to explain what was wrong with my mother, that I really wasn’t Audrey, that yes, mum did look a lot like my grandmother, that I really, really wasn’t Audrey, and that mum looked better than we anticipated, only extremely frail. We would have the exact conversation all the way back to the hotel as well…But the sisters were so good for each other, Mum bloomed with Bet there. They talked about the old days and it was hilarious as neither one could remember names, places, relationships… it was a bit like Groundhog day. They would repeat the same stories, much to my amusement, I could even ad-lib the same bits and get the expected laugh every time…what a deal.
But by far, the most amazing event that I saw during that time was the HUG. Every time we left the hospital my aunt would look wistfully at her older sister, and I could see the sadness in her eyes. Mum and Bet grew up during World War 2, living in London and experiencing the blitz. They were from a generation that did not, could not show their feelings. The Duchess never hugged her children, or anyone else for that matter, until she started spending time in good ole Oklahoma, where everyone, and I mean everyone hugged her whenever they met her. Like Raleigh and tobacco, mum brought the HUG back to the UK, where she found many victims to grab. Usually they were male, but if you were female, unrelated and willing to pay homage, she might hug you too.
So now, fast forward to the hospice ward….I hugged my mum every time we said goodnight because I really didn’t know if it might be the last. However, the second time Bet and I went to see mum, we were getting ready to say goodbye so I hugged my mother, and then looked at Bet and said “Well go on then!” Bet gingerly went to the bed and slowly leaned down over my mum, who grabbed her in a big bear hug and literally pulled her down on top of her bony body for a long hug. Bet’s feet became airborne, and the two collapsed against the pillows in hysterical giggles….after they disentangled themselves we left the hospital and started the long trek back to the hotel.
“Do you know what?” Bet said, “That is the first time in my life I have ever hugged your mother.”
“Wow”, I replied “Pretty amazing considering that she is 83 and you 81, and it has taken that long.” We fell silent for a moment and then I asked Bet what she thought about finally hugging her big sister. Bet paused for a moment and then her face beamed with pleasure…….”It felt good, and I think I might even do it again”
So, hugs became the order of the day, and mum was getting them wherever and whenever she could…..nurses, janitors, hell even other people’s visitors, she wasn’t fussy! One evening, a vicar came around to talk to the patient next to us. He was probably in his mid-fifties, and looked quite the English Parson you might see on Masterpiece Theatre. He finished speaking with the lady next to mum, and as he passed by our entourage he stopped, smiled at my mum, and approached her. He quietly said something religious and kind, and held out a hand to hold hers (as they do). With one big pull The Duchess had him in her arms captured in the HUG of steel…. the poor man had one leg in the air as she gave her chuckle of hugginess along with a big squeeze. He was completely and utterly shocked and embarrassed! He finally managed to pluck himself from her vice grip and smiled nervously, his round white English cheeks flushing crimson with horror. We all apologized profusely as he backed away quickly….he disappeared through the doors and we all looked at The Duchess with amazement. She laid back against her pillows, smiled and said,
“Cor. He was a bit of all right.”