Time In Mortality
"Dan, there's something wrong with nan..I think she...I think you need to come now." Peaches' voice cut through the pre-dawn and through my bubble of sleep. And I just knew. I don't quite know how to explain it. I stumbled through the darkness, fumbling to find my jimjams. "Come on!" She begged me as I slipped the loose fabric over my hips. Like a ghost, I followed her down the stairs and into the longe where nan laid in her hospital bed. As soon as I looked at her, my knowledge was cemented. I instructed Peaches to go sit with Cotton while I double checked everything. I shut off the oxygen machine and removed the nasal tubes before doing a double check. I felt her her pulse in neck, wrist and inner thigh. I listened for a heartbeat and then just to be extra sure, I checked her eyes. The lifelessness of her pale pule irises stared out at me as I checked them. Carefully, I returned the eyelid to the closed position and stepped outside to call hospice to inform them.
"Hello, this is Peggy from hospice, what is the name of the patient you're calling in regards to?" "Barb S, this is her caregiver, Daniel." "What can I do for you this morning?" "Well, you really can't do anything. I'm calling to inform you that Barb passed this morning." "Are you sure?" "Yes, checked for a pulse in three locations, listened for a heartbeat and checked her eyes. No pulse, no heartbeat and pupils were unreactive to light. I'm guessing she's been gone for a little over an hour." "Oh, I'm an hour or so away, can you wait there?" "Yes, she's not going anywhere." "What about the kids?" "I've got them. You take your time and do what you need to do." "Are you okay?" "Yes." I didn't have to think about her question. I knew I was okay. I knew I would be okay. "I know what I have to do."
I hung up the phone and went back inside to get everything. Moving silently through the house I gathered disposable gloves, a bin liner, washcloths, soap, a clean nappy, baby wipes and a clean set of clothing to change my grandmother into. I hummed one of my favourite songs by Ghost as I removed her socks and worked my way up her legs, careful not to miss an inch. I'd never seen her so still. It was beautifully calm. And for a moment I felt jealous. I slipped the hospital gown up over her hips so that I could remove the old nappy and clean her thoroughly. I could feel the coolness of her skin through my protective gloves. I've done this so many times, but this time it was somehow different. I wasn't in a suit, I wasn't wearing a mask. It was just me and the woman who cared for me as an infant, then later a child. The woman who I went on trips with, snuck snacks into the cinema with, shared my stories with. A woman who fought to accept me and in the end she did. She chose me out of all the others to give her care. She didn't want to accept her illness or couldn't, and she knew that I could. I technically had a choice, but I didn't say no. A part of me did not want to say no. I'm a loyal animal to certain people and I couldn't say no to her, especially not after the bailed me out of trouble. She also knew that I was willing and could do what none of the others could if she asked me to.
I was more careful moving her than I had with any of the other leftovers I'd worked with. I still saw her as my grandmother, not a leftover, which was an entirely new experience for me. I put on a fresh nappy to catch any extra "death fluids" as I call them just so she wouldn't ruin her favourite jimjam suit. I knew she wouldn't stand for that even in death. I held her with one hand as I pulled the mat and sheet out from under her. I binned it and turned to get the fresh moving mat to put under her so she could be moved easier when the corner or funeral home personal came to remove her. Carefully, I cradled her as I put the fresh mat underneath her. It hit me that I'd never hugged my grandmother, nor had she ever hugged me. I think I might have gotten one hug when I was a child but that's about it. She showed her affection to me in different ways, in her own way, but in that moment I hated her for not wanting to hug me, touch me more. I wondered what could be so wrong with me that she'd not want to touch me. Not even when I returned home from long trips or the worst experience in my entire life, being released from a psychiatric hospital. She didn't even hold my hand.
I lifted her chest to mine as I removed the hospital gown, just as I had many times before in the previous month when I needed to adjust her in her bed, help her to sit up to drink. The closest we'd ever been was because of death. This illness had tested before and so has death both in an external and internal sense. Thankfully my job was made easier as the gown had tear away sleeves and I could just break the tie apart with my hands. I pulled her head and arms through the sleeves of her favourite purple top and laid her back down carefully. One leg at a time I followed the same process before slipping on clean socks. I covered her with her favourite blanket then crossed her arms over her chest. I tied up the bin bag with the wash clothes and everything else and threw it into the giant bin outside. Sure, I could have kept them and washed them but I didn't want to. It somehow didn't feel right.
I stripped off the gloves I was wearing, threw them into the bin and went inside to scrub with antibacterial soap. Despite the temperature of the water, I only felt comfort as it and the suds licked up my arms, removing my earlier actions from my skin. Sitting here with her body in front of me is one of the oddest sensations. I'm looking into the shell of who my grandmother was. It's so still. And it's not my fault. Actually, when I think about it, she was long gone before she physically died. Her last week she wasn't Barb, the woman I'd known my entire life. I watched for weeks as she faded away. And the entire time I lied to the woman. Two days before she died she weakly grasped my hand and asked me, "Danny am I dying?" And I told her no. I brushed her fringe back and told her that she just had to focus on feeling better, that she didn't have to worry about anything, worrying about things was my job. As much as I wanted to pull away, I let her keep holding my hand until she fell asleep. That was the last time I ever saw the light in her eyes. The last thing I ever said to her. She was nearly conscious, sleeping most of the rest of the time, awake only when I medicated her and forced her to drink something.
And I thought of him. My Chubbs. I've never honestly wanted a connection, I thought I did before but each time it was nothing more than my attempts to control and dominate, always possessing a partner, never seeing he or she as a human or as an equal, but with him I've never been able to see him any other way. I wanted him there with me, his presence, forever warming as I stepped into the shadows and cold to perform my duties as I promised. I knew the responsibility that I'd accepted was one of loneliness, but I couldn't help but think of him. I was wanting to seek refuge in a person, not in chemicals or a blade. I wanted the one person in my life who ever truly made me feel alive here. And for the first time in my life, I also truly felt selfish. Or something that I can only interpret as selfishness.
The silence that fills the house is a hollow and unsettling one. I've never been one to enjoy silence as I find it physically distressing, the ringing in my ears driving me to the edge of insanity. I knew that she was dying. Her time was slipping away like the water that dribbled down the side of her mouth as I helped her to drink. I felt the coolness of her body as she'd brush her hand against mine. It wasn't a surprise when Peaches came to get me that morning. A week ago today she died, yet it feels as if months have passed. I've never had a good sense of time and I never will, but it just feels as if everything is dragging on. I'm not sad that she died. It was better that she died than struggle to breathe or be in pain.
"Hello, this is Peggy from hospice, what is the name of the patient you're calling in regards to?" "Barb S, this is her caregiver, Daniel." "What can I do for you this morning?" "Well, you really can't do anything. I'm calling to inform you that Barb passed this morning." "Are you sure?" "Yes, checked for a pulse in three locations, listened for a heartbeat and checked her eyes. No pulse, no heartbeat and pupils were unreactive to light. I'm guessing she's been gone for a little over an hour." "Oh, I'm an hour or so away, can you wait there?" "Yes, she's not going anywhere." "What about the kids?" "I've got them. You take your time and do what you need to do." "Are you okay?" "Yes." I didn't have to think about her question. I knew I was okay. I knew I would be okay. "I know what I have to do."
I hung up the phone and went back inside to get everything. Moving silently through the house I gathered disposable gloves, a bin liner, washcloths, soap, a clean nappy, baby wipes and a clean set of clothing to change my grandmother into. I hummed one of my favourite songs by Ghost as I removed her socks and worked my way up her legs, careful not to miss an inch. I'd never seen her so still. It was beautifully calm. And for a moment I felt jealous. I slipped the hospital gown up over her hips so that I could remove the old nappy and clean her thoroughly. I could feel the coolness of her skin through my protective gloves. I've done this so many times, but this time it was somehow different. I wasn't in a suit, I wasn't wearing a mask. It was just me and the woman who cared for me as an infant, then later a child. The woman who I went on trips with, snuck snacks into the cinema with, shared my stories with. A woman who fought to accept me and in the end she did. She chose me out of all the others to give her care. She didn't want to accept her illness or couldn't, and she knew that I could. I technically had a choice, but I didn't say no. A part of me did not want to say no. I'm a loyal animal to certain people and I couldn't say no to her, especially not after the bailed me out of trouble. She also knew that I was willing and could do what none of the others could if she asked me to.
I was more careful moving her than I had with any of the other leftovers I'd worked with. I still saw her as my grandmother, not a leftover, which was an entirely new experience for me. I put on a fresh nappy to catch any extra "death fluids" as I call them just so she wouldn't ruin her favourite jimjam suit. I knew she wouldn't stand for that even in death. I held her with one hand as I pulled the mat and sheet out from under her. I binned it and turned to get the fresh moving mat to put under her so she could be moved easier when the corner or funeral home personal came to remove her. Carefully, I cradled her as I put the fresh mat underneath her. It hit me that I'd never hugged my grandmother, nor had she ever hugged me. I think I might have gotten one hug when I was a child but that's about it. She showed her affection to me in different ways, in her own way, but in that moment I hated her for not wanting to hug me, touch me more. I wondered what could be so wrong with me that she'd not want to touch me. Not even when I returned home from long trips or the worst experience in my entire life, being released from a psychiatric hospital. She didn't even hold my hand.
I lifted her chest to mine as I removed the hospital gown, just as I had many times before in the previous month when I needed to adjust her in her bed, help her to sit up to drink. The closest we'd ever been was because of death. This illness had tested before and so has death both in an external and internal sense. Thankfully my job was made easier as the gown had tear away sleeves and I could just break the tie apart with my hands. I pulled her head and arms through the sleeves of her favourite purple top and laid her back down carefully. One leg at a time I followed the same process before slipping on clean socks. I covered her with her favourite blanket then crossed her arms over her chest. I tied up the bin bag with the wash clothes and everything else and threw it into the giant bin outside. Sure, I could have kept them and washed them but I didn't want to. It somehow didn't feel right.
I stripped off the gloves I was wearing, threw them into the bin and went inside to scrub with antibacterial soap. Despite the temperature of the water, I only felt comfort as it and the suds licked up my arms, removing my earlier actions from my skin. Sitting here with her body in front of me is one of the oddest sensations. I'm looking into the shell of who my grandmother was. It's so still. And it's not my fault. Actually, when I think about it, she was long gone before she physically died. Her last week she wasn't Barb, the woman I'd known my entire life. I watched for weeks as she faded away. And the entire time I lied to the woman. Two days before she died she weakly grasped my hand and asked me, "Danny am I dying?" And I told her no. I brushed her fringe back and told her that she just had to focus on feeling better, that she didn't have to worry about anything, worrying about things was my job. As much as I wanted to pull away, I let her keep holding my hand until she fell asleep. That was the last time I ever saw the light in her eyes. The last thing I ever said to her. She was nearly conscious, sleeping most of the rest of the time, awake only when I medicated her and forced her to drink something.
And I thought of him. My Chubbs. I've never honestly wanted a connection, I thought I did before but each time it was nothing more than my attempts to control and dominate, always possessing a partner, never seeing he or she as a human or as an equal, but with him I've never been able to see him any other way. I wanted him there with me, his presence, forever warming as I stepped into the shadows and cold to perform my duties as I promised. I knew the responsibility that I'd accepted was one of loneliness, but I couldn't help but think of him. I was wanting to seek refuge in a person, not in chemicals or a blade. I wanted the one person in my life who ever truly made me feel alive here. And for the first time in my life, I also truly felt selfish. Or something that I can only interpret as selfishness.
The silence that fills the house is a hollow and unsettling one. I've never been one to enjoy silence as I find it physically distressing, the ringing in my ears driving me to the edge of insanity. I knew that she was dying. Her time was slipping away like the water that dribbled down the side of her mouth as I helped her to drink. I felt the coolness of her body as she'd brush her hand against mine. It wasn't a surprise when Peaches came to get me that morning. A week ago today she died, yet it feels as if months have passed. I've never had a good sense of time and I never will, but it just feels as if everything is dragging on. I'm not sad that she died. It was better that she died than struggle to breathe or be in pain.
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