It was December 9th, 2003 when I had called at my friend’s house for a worried chat. Whilst sipping hot sweet tea, I told him how worried I was about Marcus’ Dad. His Dad and I had split up 6 years earlier, but we had remained close and were best friends. Ken was 26 years my senior and had lived with depression for a long time. However much I loved him, these factors had eventually taken its toll. It is amazing how well you can get on with somebody and show empathy, when you do not live with them.
Ken was of a very slim build and stood tall, although, much to his misery, he never quite made it to 6 foot. He was always proud of the fact that when he was a boy, his uncle was known as the tallest policeman in Leeds . His dark hair and even darker eyes with his olive skin gave him a Mediterranean appearance, although he was a Yorkshire man through and through. However, handsome I thought he was, it was his voice that had attracted me; deep, warm and very sexy. Moreover, he could do the unmistakable, iconic Scottish burr of Sean Connery! Even though he was twenty six years my elder, he had a kind of air of vulnerability about him, of which I cannot quite put my finger on. I found this somewhat endearing.
Ken was supposed to have come for tea on the previous Friday. I had told him that I was making his favourite chilli, with rice and pita bread – in the slow cooker, just how he liked it. However, he had never turned up. We had only arranged it the night before, when he had come to watch Marcus, whilst I had taken Allan to church. Even though I was concerned, I was not too worried, as Ken worked incredibly long shifts and when he fell asleep, he really did fall asleep; a bomb would struggle to waken him when he had gotten to that state. The weekend had passed, Monday had passed and it was now Tuesday; moreover, it was Marcus’ 10th birthday the following day, thus it was even odder that I had not heard from him.
I decided to telephone his work and finally track him down. To my horror, they had not heard from him since Thursday. They had informed me that some colleagues had gone to his house, seen his car and knocked heavily on his door trying to get a reply, but to no avail. Looking at the dozens of times I had tried to call him on my mobile phone, my heart began to beat very fast. I suppose in my heart of hearts I knew something had happened. That churning feeling you get in the pit of the stomach that just won’t go away! After leaving my friend’s house, I came home to pick Marcus up from school. Still on edge and not knowing what to do, I was very quiet. “Are you OK, Mum”? Marcus had asked.
At this point, I knew that I had to go up to the house and check. I searched for my spare keys and grabbed my mobile and dropped Marcus off at my Dad’s just across the road. “Where are you going Mummy”? Marcus kept asking.
“I am just going to check on your Daddy love, don’t worry, I will be back soon”.
I tried to remain light hearted as to not worry him, but my heart felt far from light.
I smoked two cigarettes during the five minute journey and eventually as dusk fell, I arrived at the house. I could see his car; the house was in darkness. My heart was beating faster and faster. I nervously slipped my hands into my coat pocket and shakily brought out the keys, fumbling to get them into the lock. As I walked into the hallway, the cold hit me. It was cold outside, but it felt like ice inside, the mist was visible from my breath. A shiny red, new children’s bike was propped up against the wall. I shouted his name. The kitchen door was closed, I intrepidly opened it and the light was on. A sign, I thought! I continued to shout as I climbed the stairs. “Ken, Ken, don’t be daft now, where are you”? I called out again with a tremble. His bedroom door was slightly ajar, my frozen hand sneaked around the corner to turn on the light. Then, in a glimpse of an eye, I caught sight of his body, laid on his side at the foot of the bed. My hands began to visibly shake; my throat felt like it was ready to close up as my heart was now pounding so hard, I thought I was going to explode into a thousand pieces. I did not get any closer; I knew he was dead and I was very frightened. I backed out to the landing, phone in hand, I dialed 999. The operator asked me to check his pulse – “He’s dead”, I cried. “I don’t need to, I know he’s dead”. I described the body and the wonderful calm lady on the other end of the phone slowly told me to go downstairs, sit down and wait for the emergency services.
These people are truly amazing; they will never know how important it is for somebody to have another human voice to talk to at the end of the phone in such terrible times of crisis. I ran out of the door and leaned on Ken’s car, quickly turned away as I threw my guts up at the side of the path. “Please, please, please hurry”, I cried out loud. I glanced to my right as the blue neon lights lit up the street. Thank goodness, I was not on my own any more. Two paramedics, a lady and a man rushed straight upstairs, whilst a police car pulled around the corner. The police lady held my hand and we sat together on the sofa. Within moments, the paramedics came down the stairs asking me which undertakers I wanted to use. As I replied, I noticed, the bike again, my heart sank even lower. “Why now, it’s our son’s birthday tomorrow, why now”? I cried. “How on earth, can I go home and tell my son that his Dad was dead”? I kept asking the police lady.
Sitting my son down and telling him that his father had gone to heaven was indeed the worse thing that I have ever had to do and indeed I do believe it was the hardest thing that I will ever have to tell anybody in my life. I do believe now that I can handle anything else that life ever threw at me again. The eve of his birthday, I will never forget Marcus’ eyes. The pain in his face was evident; he cried and cried and hugged me so tight. We cried and held each other all night long.
The love you feel for a husband is different from the love you have for an ex lover or the father of your child, a best friend, but it is not less meaningful. Sadly, in today’s society, the love for a best friend does not have the same value and support as it does for romantic love. Such loss of a best friend, through death is a permanent falling out, of which leaves a huge gaping hole in your life. There are no socially accepted guidelines of how to cope.
Even though I have two very close and extremely good friends, who I will never forget, I still felt very alone. I wanted Mum, but she would not understand. I so wanted my Mum, I needed her so much. I did not know how to help Marcus work through his grief; I could not seem to help myself. The good thing was and in hindsight I can see that it was the right thing to do, Marcus and I never stopped talking about our grief and the love we had for his Dad. We cried together and shared precious memories.
In the days leading up to the funeral, 22nd December (Mum’s birthday), I felt shock, fear, anger and resentment all rolled in to one. I felt helpless and emotionally numb. After the funeral, the intervening days passed in a blur of unbearable pain, which I thought would never go away.
I heard back from the post mortem that Ken had died from sudden heart failure. I was told that he would have gone incredibly quickly, like the flick of a light switch. Each evening I would try a glass of wine in the vain attempt that it would help me sleep. Each night resulted in more pain, more flashbacks and horrendous nightmares, which eventually resulted in some form of restless opiated sleep. The feeling of intense grief penetrated through to my very core and what hurts me the most, is that Ken will never see our son turning in to the wonderful, caring, handsome young man that he is turning in to today.
My father and my step-father were now both in their eighties, Allan getting more and more confused. Mum now in her own world; how was I going to cope? I remember visiting my mum shortly after Ken’s death. As soon as I saw her face sitting there in the lounge with the other residents, my entire world opened up. I cried inconsolably and raced to my Mum, holding her so very tight, I told her that Ken had died. We held each other and cried as other residents looked on at my sorry state. Mum soon forgot though, I got tired of telling her repeatedly that Ken had died, as each time I told her, she was in shock and we would cry over and over again. Mum did not deserve this pain. In the end, when she asked how Ken was, I would smile and say he was fine. She would smile back and say “Oh, that’s good”. It did seem to ease the situation.
I hated seeing Mum in these homes. I cried every time I left her. She looked so alone, so vulnerable and frail. As I turned my back on Mum to leave, I always felt a painful lump creeping into my throat, which would stay for the journey home. It was always more painful when I visited alone. Often, I would drive home with tears streaming down my face. There had been many occasions when I arrived home when I would stop and think and tell myself that I didn’t actually remember driving home!
The day after the funeral, I had previously arranged to take Mum and Marcus to the Grand Theatre in Leeds to see A Christmas Carol. I decided to still go and we turned up at the home shortly after tea to collect her. I was driving Ken’s big old Rover, as Allan had borrowed my car and a few days previously had managed to right her off after coming too close to a lamppost. I had not wanted to lend him it, but I did not feel able to take him to church that night. Fortunately, Allan was perfectly unscathed by the whole affair.
As I helped Mum into the car, her new posh faux fur coat bulking her up, she kept remarking on how big the car was. “Is this your normal car, Vicki”? She kept asking. Rolling his eyes back, Marcus whispered, “Here we go again”.
“No Mum, its Ken’s”. I replied. After a dozen more times going around and around in circles, I told her that it was my car. “Oh”, she said. “I thought your car was red”, she carried on.
Marcus and I swapped smiles and away we went towards the City centre.
I love the Grand Theatre at Christmas time. On entering the building and bustling through the crowds, we eventually found our box. I had deliberately ordered a box, as I did not want Mum being knocked about and moreover, I did not know how she would react. The building has such a continental feel to it, somewhat gothic and ecclesiastical in parts. The year that we went in 2003, was the 125th anniversary of its opening. To see the Charles Dickens’s play at this time of year was to me, the very essence of true Christmas spirit, which I had hoped Mum and Marcus would share.
Half time became a huge problem, as Marcus needed the toilet and wanted an ice-cream. I dare not leave Mum on the free standing chair and huge step. I asked a nice young man working there, if he would kindly keep an eye on her in our absence. It was very nice of him and he seemed to make Mum smile. It makes me laugh now, but at the time it was so frustrating, as Mum did not once look at the stage. She had a constant smile on her face, but kept dreamily gazing up at the ceiling and at the audience across the way and down below. I occasionally gently turned her head to towards to stage, but she would move it straight back again towards the audience. It was an enjoyable evening, albeit very hard work, as Mum and Marcus were very tired. Marcus was very tearful and walking back to the car park seemed to take an eternity, as I held tight onto Marcus’ hand and gently trying to encourage Mum to walk just that little bit faster.
As I collapsed with exhaustion into my bed that evening, I began to feel tremendous guilt that Ken had died on his own. I did not want my Mum to die in the residential home and not have her loved ones around her. These thoughts kept whirring around my head, making going to sleep mission impossible. Why had I not checked on Ken earlier? I guess I was worried what I might have found. I began regretting leaving him, even though it had been the right thing to do at the time.
Living with someone with depression is almost as bad as being depressed your self. I found it so difficult to remain my optimistic self. Ken had cared for his elderly Mum at home, as she had been living with dementia too. Shortly after her passing away, we had bought a house together and I fell pregnant. This was probably too much for Ken and his depression deteriorated. Unfortunately, Ken would not seek medical help and refused to open up and talk, even to me, thus it was a constant battle for him. In a way, I wanted to stay with him, why wouldn’t I, I loved him and we had a child together. However, on the other hand, it was such an arduous situation, where my health and whole well being was seriously beginning to suffer. I was more or less a single parent anyway, as if Ken was not working, he was sleeping.
All these factors were beginning to influence the need for bringing Mum home. I did not want her to feel alone, in addition, in a selfish kind of way, I did not want to feel alone. I wanted my Mum, with Marcus and I, where she belonged. I decided to wait until after Christmas and then discuss the matter with Mum’s Social Worker.
Christmas was horrendous; I tried to keep it as festive as possible for Marcus, but it was such hard work. My sister, my niece and my Dad came for Christmas dinner. In hindsight, they should have bloody well taken me out! I served up an extra plate to carry up to Allan, who was becoming more and more isolated. Neither my sister nor my dad would have anything to do with Allan, which put me in a terrible position. I felt like I was in the middle, acting out a balancing act in a desperate attempt to hold everything and everyone together.
A couple of days after Christmas, the home telephoned informing me that Mum had suffered another seizure, the Doctor was there and Mum was not coming round nor responding in any way. Grabbing my coat and Marcus’ hand, I flew out of the door and arrived at the home within half an hour. Mum looked shocking; her eyes were rolled towards the back of her head. She lay there, propped up with many crisp white pillows and wrapped up warm in a sheet and a fluffed up pinky coloured quilt. Oh my, she had deteriorated; her false teeth were out, her hollow cheeks now sank back even further, her chin stuck out in a caricaturist way. The skin on her arms, I had noticed had become almost transparent. She was not coming around from this one, I could see that. “Oh please Mum, not now”, I cried. “Stay with me, I could not cope if anything happened to you”.
The following day, Mum’s eyes had stopped rolling, but she was unable to move.
Mum was now doubly incontinent and was not able to feed her self. The staff was monitoring how much she drank, by using a syringe and counting up the mils. The Doctor came out to see me and explained that he could send Mum to hospital for a brain scan and further tests; however, he did not think that it would be worth it for Mum. Even though, I desperately wanted to know exactly what had happened, I did agree with the Doctor. It was not in Mum’s best interest to be poked about in a noisy hospital; plus she would be more likely to pick up an infection whilst in there. Health professionals could not give me a prognosis; however, I was told it could be a matter of days or weeks before the end of Mum’s battle with dementia. I cried to Mum every day, begging her to hold on as I was not ready to lose her. Selfish I know!
By February, Mum’s condition had not improved, although it had not got any worse either and she had lasted longer than all of what the professionals had said. Mum was not talking now; she would communicate with facial expressions, with the occasional noise arising. The home was no longer able to cope with Mum, as she needed to be in a home equipped for EMI patients with in-house nursing staff available. On St. Valentine’s day, Mum moved to a home in Hunslet; it was such a shame that she did not know that she was back in Leeds 10.
Weeks went by and Mum was either laid on her side in her bed or sitting looking very uncomfortable in a bucket chair in the corner of the lounge area. Always slumped to one side, mouth open and eyes shut, on every single visit. I did not think it was possible for Mum to become any thinner, but she did. Allan was too poorly to visit her; however, my Dad continued to give her some stimulation. I began visiting at meal times so that I could take over feeding her, in the attempt to make sure that she was getting some food. If I was not there, Dad would be, reminiscing about their days on their bikes; singing Mum’s favourite songs and gently stroking her face or holding her hand. Mum suffered another seizure and ended up in Seacroft hospital. It is here that I noticed the nurses taking more time when feeding Mum and she seemed to slightly improve. This was it – I contacted Social Services and got the ball rolling – Mum was coming to live with me.
I had several meetings with Social Workers, District Nurses and Doctors and eventually they agreed to arrange for Mum to come home. My home went in to complete chaos, as a hospital bed, air pressure flow mattress were delivered, hoists attached to the ceiling, etc, etc. I don’t know why, down to red tape I suppose, but it took months to get Mum home. I had been doing bits of supply teaching here and there since graduating, but due to all the other personal problems in my life, I did not have a full time job. I would stay at home and care for my Mum and be there for my son; that is what I needed to do.
My living room had now become Mum’s bedroom, but I still managed to keep the sofa and TV in there. It was a small space, but nevertheless, it was cosy and it was ours.
With some money left from Ken, I took Marcus to California Hollywood
We traveled to LAX and stayed in North Hollywood , with my friend Steve. Steve is a very gentle person, with a very easy going personality, thus a perfect companion for a long trip. Tall, dark and slim with his shaggy hair and baggy tee’s, Steve looked like the typical groupie. He does actually play the bass in his band “Leodis”; he looks quite cool with his beanie hats and his big bass guitar.
After the “big event”, days sightseeing and flying around roller coasters, we drove to Anaheim Disneyland and Knotts Berry Farm. Our holiday continued with a long drive up the pacific highway coastal road, (Highway 1) with its breathtaking ocean views on the left and stunning mountain ranges to the right, staying over at Ragged Point, the half way point between Los Angeles San Francisco Big Sur , not far from San Simeon and its famous Hearst Castle
The Ragged Point Hotel is a serene place, positioned on the cliff top hosting floor to ceiling windows, offering a panoramic ocean view. The motel style rooms were pretty basic, but the environment was pure magic. We careered off on a wilderness hiking trail; however, we soon retreated back to the comfort of the hotel restaurant on site of “bear warning signs”. I am afraid; we are city people through and through! The following day, we were onward bound for San Francisco
We visited Alcatraz , which had previously housed notorious inmates, such as Al Capone, George “Machine Gun” Kelly and Robert Stroud (The Birdman of Alcatraz), we walked the Golden Gate Bridge village of Castro Chinatown and saw trendy teenagers and old hippies in the Ashbury/Haight district., where Steve bought a new bass.
We spent the nights at Fisherman’s Wharf, Pier 39, watching the sea lions barking loudly, as they each fought to stay on their piece of floating wood. Well we did have an eleven year old with us! It was a wonderful holiday, of which I will never forget. It is here that I experienced my first tattoo and realised the crucial importance of good brakes when driving up the famous hills, of which I had seen many times on television. Lombard Street
The holiday did me the world of good; I came home feeling refreshed and excited for my new role as full time carer and full time mother. I was also very happy to have spent that time with Marcus. Ken’s dream was to travel the world with his son and introduce him to new things, people and cultures. Ken had traveled immensely in his younger days, as he was a photographer on cruise ships, sailing to New Orleans Caribbean and many other wonderful places. I indeed had the travel bug myself. I would rather not go out for a year, but then go on a big adventure with my son.
We have traveled to the East and West coast of America Tampa , Florida Las Vegas Greek Islands Spain Canary Islands . We have scoured on foot the vast city of Toronto Buffalo , New York Niagara Falls Empire State Harlem . We experienced the hair raising see through lift whilst ascending to the top of the CN Tower and hopefully we have yet many more adventures to undertake. India United Arab Emirates Europe many times, but back in Mum’s earlier days, the United States
After several more meetings with professionals, a care company was found and it was arranged for two carers to come three times daily to help me with Mum’s personal care. On the first day of Marcus starting high school, Mum finally came home. I managed somehow to get Allan down to my house to see her. He held her hand and they both wept. Sadly, that was the last time Allan and Mum saw each other, as Allan’s own health declined even further. Allan was later diagnosed with Picks disease and he too, began to receive carers from the same company. However inappropriately Allan began to behave, he could still tell you to the pence how much money he had in his wallet and even in his bank. Although, his behaviour was becoming increasingly deluded and our Wednesday trips eventually had to stop, as he struggled to walk and became incontinent.
Mum had plateaued and I was not sure how long I actually would have with her. I bought her the best possible foods and blended them and spent literally, hours feeding her. Maintaining hydration was a problem, as my room was very warm and she quickly overheated. I noticed when Mum became too hot; she would experience yet another seizure. However, these had now become quite mild, with the medication that she was on. Marcus seemed happy that his Grandma was home, although he did say he felt a little scared, which is quite understandable after what he had been through. I always made sure that I was the first person down on a morning to check in on Mum.
On the first night of her being here, I gave her a kiss and said goodnight. To my utter astonishment, I heard a little voice emanating from the hospital bed, “Goodnight”. Tears rolled down my face in amazement. How did she do that? I tried to get her to say it again, but she didn’t. However, I felt content and slept better than I had done in a long time.
*
The decision to bring Mum home was not such a tough decision, which I can imagine it is for many people. I had had experiences that had pushed me in that direction. Moreover, I was lucky enough to be in that position where I could care for her at home. When Mum was displaying aggressive behaviour, I do not think it would have been possible to care for her at home, as she would have been a danger to her self and indeed, my son. The timing was right. I had felt regret that Ken had passed away on his own and I certainly was not allowing that to happen to Mum. Mum, Ken and Marcus were the most precious things in my life and I was going to do everything I could to keep Mum and Marcus safe.
If you are faced with this decision, it will be one of the biggest decisions you will have to make. Talk it through with family and friends and ask yourself if they will be there for you. Do you have a good network of people around to support you? To some people, caring for their loves ones is the most naturalist thing on earth. However, to others, it is alien; it will affect you, your family, your friends, your social life, your career, in fact your whole world will be turned upside down. It is not a decision to be taken lightly and it is not for everyone. You are tied to the house and spontaneity becomes a thing of the distant past. However, if I could turn back the clock, would I still have brought Mum home? One hundred percent, most definitely, yes!
No comments:
Post a Comment