In yesterday's blog, I had the premonition that it was not going to be a normal day so I actually completed the entry for the following day very early in the morning. But here is a much fuller account of what transpired on Saturday, 10th May, the day before my 80th birthday. During the night before, as I slept on the camp bed besides Meg which I have done for practically a year now, I noticed that Meg's breathing had become shallower and more rapid, although she did not appear to be in any pain or distress. After I had got up, the rapid breathing intensified and I called the District Nurse (as I had been urged to do) and she came along after about a three quarters of an hour. She confirmed that Meg did not seem to be in pain or distress but thought that the rapid breathing might be a sign of an underlying anxiety and administered an injection. Both the nurse and myself suspected that the rapid breathing signalled that Meg's life was ebbing away. In the late morning, my son and daughter-in-law called around as we had arranged that we should have a family meal and a Chinese meal had already been delivered the day before. So we ate this largely in the kitchen instead of the refurbished dining room and I explained that our good friend, one of ex-Erasmus students and now a lifelong friend, as soon as she heard about Meg announced that she was going to jump on a plane to be by Meg's bedside. Her flight had taken off from Madrid at 6.30 in the morning and she came via Paris and then flew into Birmingham airport and caught a train to Bromsgrove. After booking into the 'Holiday Inn' only a few hundred metres from our house, our friend came around and Meg was still with us. I left her completely alone with Meg for 10-15 minutes so that they could have their last communication with each other and this absolutely wonderful that she had managed to do this in time. Our domestic help called around with some birthday 'goodies' for me for the following day and then, only an hour and a half since our friend had arrived from Madrid, Meg's spirit finally departed (my son noted at 2.39 in the afternoon.) Naturally, we were all filled with grief but with an admixture of relief for Meg and almost a sort of happiness that Meg had experienced what in Catholic theology is known as a 'good death' with her family and loved ones all around her and with no pain, distress or agitation. It was actually just an ebbing away of her life in a peaceful and tranquil fashion and was all that anyone could really wish for. The District Nurses had to be summoned because it is they, these days, who certify that a person had died. Then the undertaker had to be called and it took them over an hour to arrive but they were superbly professional in their tasks. I had already made contact with them to make some prior arrangements several days ago and had got their details immediately to hand in a nice, royal blue folder which I had tastefully labelled as 'Meg's Care Arrangements'. Meg was transported into their vehicle and I deliberately kept the kitchen door closed so that I was spared the upset of seeing Meg's body leaving the house. Instead, I went into our downstairs bedroom, adapted from our 'L' shaped lounge and just said 'Goodbye, sunshine' which was the name by which I often addressed Meg. Then the family sat outside in the bright sunshine whilst my daughter-in-law went next door to give the news to our next door neighbour.
By this time, it was approaching 6.00pm so my son and daughter-in-law made the suggestion that we all leave the house and walk over to the 'Holiday Inn' where they serve food and drink practically all day. Here, the four of us (myself, son, daughter-in-law and our Madrid friend) had a drink and ordered a meal of a variety of Asian delicacies that we could all select and eat as we chose. We had a really happy and enjoyable hour and half, not at all morose and not with our heads filled with things funerial but a really fascinating and enjoyable conversation. I know that none of us can exactly predict the timing of our own death but we felt that, one way or another, Meg had completed a superb act of timing by hanging on until she could see our friend who had flown in from Madrid but then departing this mortal coil (in the words of the Bard) on the day before my 80th birthday celebrations which are scheduled for the following day (Sunday) and which we do not think that Meg would have wanted us to have cancelled or postponed. I had only just returned to the house on my own when our wonderful Welsh neighbour called around and we discussed what how the days events had unfolded and how wonderful it was for Meg to depart this world surrounded by family, friends and even an ex-student which seemed so fitting under the circumstances. I did relocate the clock radio and the 'Alexa' smart speaker to the upstairs bedroom and then spent quite a lot of the evening going thought the 'Contacts' list on my phone and informing them all about Meg's demise. I did not go to bed until about 1.00am and did not sleep particularly well but actually got up at sunrise (5.20 in the morning) In a strange kind of way I do not feel that Meg actually departed this house yesterday as with her advancing dementia and the fact for the last week or so she was asleep practically the whole of the day (as well as the night), then I felt that her actual spirit had fluttered away almost surreptitiously over the preceding weeks and months. And, of course, I had even got Meg's work desk tidied up and freed from clutter for the first time in years so that this was left in good order as well. My son has made the telling observation that once hospital beds, specialist chairs, hoists and wheelchairs have been returned to the NHS then we can reorder the furniture in our living space and restore a sense of what is going to become, for me, the new normality.
© Mike Hart [2025]