Another passing and another serious illness

On Thursday morning I got a call from Steep House Nursing Home to say that my aged uncle was experiencing breathing problems and refusing food. This had happened before and I asked the caller to let me know how he progressed. I did not phone the niece in Swansea who is his next of kin. I have been working extra hours at the charity shop again and have done four shifts this week. On Friday morning I put my mobile phone under the counter and around 10.30 I had a call from one of the carers or nurses. Bill had just died. I phoned Patricia, his niece, and she said that she would inform her family.  I sent my husband a text to tell him; he decided that he would go on the Walking for Health walk, which is what we do on most Friday mornings. He came to the charity shop later in the morning. 

It is hard to say what I feel. There is a degree of relief as well as the sadness that usually comes with a death. I looked after him, or at least was responsible for his welfare, for a little over nine years. I was fond of him but unreasonably felt resentful that he lived on after our darling daughter died.  There were problems in the early days at Steep House because of his officious, interfering God-bothering neighbours. Once his house was sold this changed and all was agreeable. I used to bring him chocolate, cream cakes and other goodies. When he finally took to his bed I went on bringing the goodies but last year he started refusing them. It was necessary to put a thickener in his drinks so that he could drink them without choking. 

Yesterday we went to the nursing home for the last time. We cleared out his possessions (not much; old, stained, worn-out clothes) and took them to the charity shop where I volunteer. Tomorrow we must see the funeral director, notify the bank and telephone the solicitor. I have decided on the music for his funeral. Perhaps one of his relatives could read a poem. 

I emailed my two surviving siblings to let them know of Bill's death. The older of the two lives in California and the news he sent was not good; he has melanoma, has had surgery and various treatments. He's now on immunotherapy. The younger one is well at present, despite problems with atrial fibrillation. His wife is not. She suffered kidney damage because of a mis-diagnosed skin rash. He does not know whether he can attend the funeral. Since he never once visited the old man while he was alive, there seems little point in coming to his funeral. I hope that some of the staff from Steep House will come, particularly Sandra Owen, who came to the home about the same time as Bill and was good to him. He liked her a lot. 

I miss my children. 

Spring, perhaps

I have thought about this blog a lot over the past two months. Easter has come and gone and we have spent two weeks in Vence. There has been snow and rain and last Saturday morning Judith's husband finally died at home. He had spent a week or two in a hospice but wanted to come home for the end of his life. I am working extra shifts, as are some of the other staff members. 

We left for France on April 6th, two years to the day after our daughter's funeral.  I took the little picture of her as a new-born, an original picture in a little frame. In the cold weather I kept this under my pillow, remembering how she hated to be cold. I have continued to do this. the weather was disappointing; it rained for four days in a row. We went to Antibes on Friday instead of Thursday and sat inside the restaurant. The journeys there and back were trouble-free. The weekend of April 27th to 29th we spent in Winchester. After our Friday morning walk we returned home, finished our packing and went to the Royal Hotel. This is in the centre of Winchester and was originally the bishop's house. Dan played bridge and on Saturday morning I went to see the Gerald Scarfe exhibition in The Gallery, which is in the public library in Jewry Street. I enjoyed it. He is undoubtedly very gifted, although I know nothing about art. I met Dan for lunch and then he want back for more bridge. I went to our room and read; I started using the e-reader again when we were in Vence. Dan is going to buy me a Kindle Paperwhite for my birthday. I have already got his birthday present. He found a new Stetson cap in the Chapellerie in Antibes. This replaces the one that he left on the train when we last went to the Albert Hall. 

We have bought our tickets for the events we want to see at the Hay festival. The How The Light Gets In festival will be back at Hay but we were disappointed last time and do not want any tickets this year. Afterwards we shall spend two nights at Pound Farm and meet the new canine additions to the family. I shall, of course, be glad to get home. Dan has booked our bed and breakfast accommodation. Our friends have bought a caravan which they will use. 

My poor, sick old uncle lives on, although one could hardly call it living. I have a bottle of wine for Sandra but forgot to take it when she was actually working a shift. This week or perhaps next week we shall see her. Yesterday, when I was working in the charity shop, a woman came in who used to work at Steep House. She was surprised that he is still alive. He does not answer when we speak to him. He is like a little husk.  

There is no news of our son. I doubt that we shall ever see or hear from him again. A man at the Probus Club, who is Dan's vice-chairman, is estranged from his daughter. He thinks that in four or five years Neil will return and want to be our son again. I do not agree. He is gone for ever. Dan will not have him back. 

I have been in a lot of pain recently. I am trying not to take Co-codamol. I have run out of the Voltarol patches that we buy in France. My neck is sore and I have been taking Ibuprofen; that is really cheap. My doctor prescribes strong Co-codamol but I do not like to ask for too much. There is a little arthritis in my left ankle and foot and that is the side where the sciatica strikes. Old age ain't no place for sissies. 

Two years on

So long since I last posted. A lot has happened. I am still working at the charity shop and Judith's husband is still alive. It is not easy for her. He is refusing to have carers because of his privacy and dignity. She is going to explore the possibility of engaging a Rosemary Foundation nurse or a bed in The Rowans Hospice. He is increasingly disabled and is at times not altogether compos mentis. So hard; they do not deserve this. 

Last weekend we went to the Isle of Wight to stay with our daughter's godmother and her husband. It was Mothering Sunday on our last day there. I had forgotten this. Of course, there was no card from my son. Anne did not get any cards either, but two of her daughters and her elder son phoned her and her younger son sent a text message. The night before we went to the theatre in Shanklin to see Russell Watson. It was enjoyable but there was too much amplification for a relatively small theatre. We lunched out on Saturday at a pleasant pub in Brading. We walked on Sunday morning to Sandown Bay and got the bus back. It was a very pleasant break. 

It has been milder after what was called The Beast from the East. It was not as beastly as forecast but was pretty bad. There was snow and sub-zero temperatures. We are fortunate that we live so centrally. We stocked up with food and stayed in, not walking on Friday morning as usual. We managed our Sunday visit to the nursing home. He has shrunk; he seldom acknowledges us. We sit and drink tea and eat the chocolate éclairs that I like so much.  How much longer can this go on? I have paid for his funeral and decided on the music. When we go into the chapel it will be the Morriston Orpheus Choir singing Swansea Town. During the slideshow we shall have Cleo Laine singing Bill. As we leave the chapel at the end of the service it will be Glenn Miller playing Moonlight Serenade. 

In an hour or so it will be two years since I last spoke to my daughter. I wish, I so wish, that we had gone to her that night. I wish I had phoned her first thing in the morning. I miss her every day. I have her baby picture in a little frame; during the intensely cold spell and more recent cold nights I have taken this into bed with me, tucking it under the pillow. She hated being cold. 

Tomorrow we are going to London. We shall take the train there and back (and pray that the snow that is forecast will not be sufficiently heavy to cause delays) and visit Churchill's wartime cabinet rooms. Then we shall go to a concert at the Albert Hall with our friend Jim and his sister and brother-in-law. If there is time we shall go to the V&A before the concert. We have a box with some women from Dan's bridge club.  Afterwards we shall dine at the Union Jack Club, which is conveniently near Waterloo station. I think it will be a good idea to check that trains are running before we dine. 

Post-Christmas Gloom

How long it is since I posted in this blog. I have been busy; since Robin Nettle was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, I have done some extra shifts in the charity shop. It has not been easy. Donna is not coping well and constantly nit-picks. She takes every opportunity to wrong-foot me and Ethel is finding the same. However, just before Christmas she did apologise and told Ethel just how difficult she is finding it all. 

We had an enjoyable weekend in Shanklin from December 1st to 3rd. My friend gave me a navy blue Laura Ashley overcoat, which I have had dry-cleaned and also had a small repair made. I wore it when we went to France for Christmas. We went out on Saturday and Sunday and saw Yarmouth and one or two other places. The Isle of Wight is a pleasant place. 

We went to the Probus Christmas lunch; very nice food, most of the company was good but we were seated on the same table as a very opinionated woman. Dan is going to be elected chairman at the end of this month and so we shall be on Table 1 for the next two years. I hope we can choose whom we sit with. We also had the Walking for Health lunch at the same pub; better company and the same meal. The following day we took off from Gatwick for our holiday. 

We spent Christmas at the flat in Vence. It was very pleasant and we were lucky with the weather again. It rained on Wednesday and Thursday after Christmas but was pleasant enough when we walked up to lunch at La Farigoule on Thursday December 28th. We only had one other meal out. We had come back from Vallauris, where we were chasing up some parts for our kitchen, and we parked at the Leclerc supermarket. We had quite a shopping list. Dan suggested that we have lunch out and I suggested the Restaurant les Baous, very nearby. We went and had a most enjoyable lunch. I could not finish  my pizza so asked for and was given a box to take it home in. 

The picture is of my father's youngest brother. There were four brothers, of which my father was the eldest. All three of his brothers predeceased him. One died in infancy. The youngest died in 1954 at the age of 36. The other died in Melbourne, Victoria, at the age of 65. It is the youngest whose picture heads this post. He had no children but was married to a very sweet woman who stayed part of our family after he died.  She married again and had three children, two sons (one of whom was stillborn) and a daughter. Her second husband was absorbed into our family and made a speech at our wedding. Since my mother died Ruby has continued as my friend and confidante. Lately I have noticed that she is getting deaf. Today we took her out to lunch. On our way to collect her we stopped at my youngest brother's house to drop off some watercolours that my late aunt wanted him to have. He said that he had spoken to her on the phone and she was "hard work". Yes; it is true that there is a degree of confusion. I think that he is exaggerating but the problem is there. I was planning to get in touch with my eldest brother's first wife with a view of taking Ruby to see her. Ruby is only four years older than Gaye and they used to be good friends. When I mentioned this and Ruby said "Which one is that?" I realised that I must abandon that idea. Gaye has multiple sclerosis and is very frail. Perhaps she, too, is slipping into dementia. What a cruel condition that is. 

Tomorrow is the first day back in the charity shop for me. I am not looking forward to it but needs must. I do not feel that I can leave while Judith is struggling with her husband's ill health. She was very kind to me when Katy died.  In the evening we are going to see some friends as it is the husband's birthday. Despite my resolution about presents Dan has bought him a bottle of Armagnac for his birthday. His wife's birthday is next month. It still rankles that I am not worth a present; a share in someone else's second-hand kitsch or nothing at all is good enough for me. I shall rise above it. 

My old uncle lives on, although one can hardly call it living. I have asked the manager of the home to let me know at any hour of the day or night if he dies. The next hurdle will be his funeral; I have planned a cremation (his wish) and a simple service in the chapel where my daughter's service was held. We shall see.