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. 

Old age and false alarums

I have just had the medical check-up that seventy year-olds get under the much-maligned National Health Service. My blood sugar level was a little up, my body mass index is good and my blood pressure is fine. My husband came for his check-up at the same time. His BMI is a little more than it should be, but this whole concept is probably going to be reviewed. Muscle weighs more than fat. 

Last weekend Dan went to the Adventure Film Festival from Friday morning to early Sunday evening. I went out on Saturday. I seldom go out on my own but that day I caught the bus from Petersfield Square to Waterlooville precinct and met up with a friend. We lunched and then went to look round the charity shops. I got a very nice Ikea vase for £1. Waterlooville looks very sad nowadays. So many of the shops in the town centre are empty. We reminisced about how it was when we first knew each other, forty-three years ago. We first met in Kingston, New York, where our husbands had been sent on assignment by IBM. I think that we would have become friends no matter how we met. A little more than a year after she and her husband returned to the UK they separated. She nearly remarried twice but is still single and I think wants to remain that way. I went on to have another child and eventually to lose both of my children in different ways. 

On Sunday I should have visited my uncle but did not. I simply could not face it. On Monday evening I had a phone call from Lijo, the manager of the nursing home where he lives. She told me that he was ill and that the doctor had been sent for. There was talk about the old man being taken to hospital. Later the doctor phoned me and confirmed that I had signed a Do Not Resuscitate form. He said that old Bill has pneumonia and there was nothing to be gained by removing him to hospital or administering antibiotics. The nurses had diamorphine to give him if he was in any pain or distress. I telephoned Patricia, Bill's niece and next-of-kin in Swansea. She asked me to let her know as soon as Bill's death happened. Yesterday we visited him and he was awake but not lucid. Today I did my shift in the charity shop and Alex, one of the carers, came in with his wife. They do a lot of shopping in Sue Ryder. He told me that Bill had eaten a good lunch and was getting better. I do not know what to do; should I phone Patricia and let her know this, or just leave things. 

On Friday September 8th we are leaving for Vence. The installation of our kitchen begins the following Monday. I was worrying about how Bill's funeral could be fitted in before we leave; now it seems there will be no funeral. He is not going to die after all. It has been a constant source of anxiety, that he would die while we are abroad. I have planned the music for his funeral but would need Patricia's help for the tribute, which I would get the minister (or celebrant, as they call such non-denominational people nowadays). I have nominated a funeral director; the firm that conducted our daughter's funeral. I have let my youngest brother know about the old man's illness. He is my back up attorney and would manage Bill's affairs in the event of my death or incapacity. He has never visited our uncle-in-law. I resent this as Bill enjoyed masculine company when he was cogent. My aunt was very good to him and it was always understood that he would be her executor.  Why she changed her will is another story. 

Saying "Good-bye" again.

I am tired and have had no lunch, just a cup of coffee at the Southampton General Hospital. We intended to visit my father-in-law after the follow-up visit to the eye surgeon. Dan let his sister know and she told us that he had been moved to another ward. While on the M27 a call came in from her; his condition had deteriorated and he had been moved to a side ward. It was just a matter of time. Two of Dan's sisters, Jacqui who is the eldest and Teresa who is the second, were already there. He died about an hour after we got there, slipping peacefully away.   I think that this is the most merciful way; he might have hated a residential home.  I am glad, so glad that Dan had a good relationship with him since 1991, when his mother died. The wonderful Elizabeth contributed greatly to that, of course. She was a wonderful woman.

Dan has let some of his father's relatives know. Veronica, a niece whom I particularly dislike, may be too infirm to come to the funeral. Her brother Joe, a man I like and who has a particularly nice wife, is also in a rather frail state. We shall see. Their sister Maureen and brother Gerard might come, I suppose, although I doubt it in Maureen's case. She distanced herself from her family long ago. Pauline, the other sister, died of cancer many years ago. I never met her and have never met Maureen.

My son said that he had "messaged" his father's family when he learned of Elizabeth's death and his grandfather's illness. The two sisters were phoning their two other siblings and their children whilst at the hospital. Perhaps they will let Neil know. I could send a message on Facebook but he would probably not see it. I have sent a message to Dan's brother Sean's ex-wife; I sent emails but they bounced back. I did not know that she had changed her email address. Perhaps her server is down.  She spends a lot of time on Facebook so I hope she will soon see my message. There have been many kind messages from my Facebook friends; people laugh at such things but these same people were very supportive and generous when my darling Katy died.

I do not know whether to visit my aged uncle-in-law tomorrow or Wednesday. I must go before we leave for Hay-on-Wye on Friday. One of the two sisters will collect the death certificate and arrange all with the funeral director. Paddy paid in advance for his funeral; all is arranged, even the wake. I have suggested that his death is announced in the local paper. There are still people about who would like to attend the funeral as he was a popular man. Although he was a cradle Catholic, his funeral service will be at St Marks, the Anglican church he attended for so many years with Elizabeth.