It is Corbert and Amy’s wedding anniversary. I smile as I sign their card. I blithely write that it is from Dad and Mom. The smile fades. In its place is not a frown but a hesitancy, a new kind of indecision wrapped in doubt and some wistfulness. The question intrudes: “Will this be the last time I write Mom and Dad?”
I send a birthday card to a niece and write, with a flourish, from Uncle Bert and Aunt Paula. Another goes to a friend and again from Bert and Paula.
Birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, sympathy, condolences, get well and thank you cards were under my list of duties and all of them were signed by me for two. It was always from two.
It is the little incidents of thought, reverie, a shiny object, a souvenir and the simple signing of a card that can bring about an extreme sense of loss. All of a sudden I began to wonder about lasts. The last hello, the last and final goodbye, the last trip to the Home, the last hug, the last farewell to the staff, the last pondering of how to acknowledge the care given to my Bert.
We sit at my Bert’s table looking out his window. A slight gust of wind and the canvass awning on the nearby balcony rises and falls. My Bert looks out and says: “The wind is strong. Look.” The wind and the movement of the awning always bring some reaction. I wonder when it will be the last time for this.
What will be the last programme we share, the last pub night, the last musical presentation? Will I be holding his hands? When will I see that last smile or hear the last: “I love you too.”
Lasts are roiling in my mind. I contemplate the last hair cut, the last foot care, the last grapes I bring to him. That brings to mind the last food he will eat and I wonder if it will be regular, mince, puree, liquid or gel. Even food foretells the decline to the end. Should I ask that his favourite foods make up his last meal? Will the last meal be regular or potage or the drip, drip of a colourless liquid?
We sit on the patio and I make sure he is out of the sun. My Bert does not tan well. He goes from pale to lobster red and back to pale quickly. I put some sun screen on his hands and wonder: Is this the last time? I glance at the rose bush which is coming out strong and already I can envision the lovely yellow roses that will bloom soon. It is a beautiful bush and again I wonder if this will be the last time we admire it together.
I shake myself out of morbid thoughts and try to substitute happy lasts. For the life of me I can’t think of any. Last of anything is a precursor to an end. In the effort to move away from sadness I find I must move away from the lasts that involves anything to do with my Bert.
Forcing myself out of morbidity I immediately think of a last that I will welcome. Oh, how I will welcome the last day of Covid-19. What a celebration that would be when not just first world but the entire world is free of Covid-19? I am not sure that is possible but one can hope and dream.
What a conceit it is to think of the lasts with my Bert as being comparable to a world pandemic. Yet I think that the sheer enormity of both makes the comparison reasonable.
As I try to conjure up happy lasts I find myself reverting to endings. It seems that there are many more endings that are sad than happy. That should not be. Yet I see happy endings as fairy tales. It must be the mood I am in, the burden I carry, and the onus that sits constantly on my shoulder to be happy for my Bert. Now I appreciate how much I depended on him to enhance our natural joy. He carries so much joy in him. It is infectious. As I remember his wonder, his happiness in the smallest thing I know I have to try to maintain that childlike magic he has.
It can be wearying being happy for two.
It is Father’s Day. Along with a few gifts my Bert has received four cards. He has eyes for one card only. It is from Corbert and Amy and features his favourite pet, a dog. It is special. When you pull a tab the dog talks. It begs him to have a Happy Father’s Day, asks to be thrown a bone, pants and again the Happy Father’s Day wish.
The card is shown to every staff member; my Bert cannot get enough of it. I finally succeed in teaching him to pull the tab and he is delighted to hear the dog ‘speak’. He takes it with him to the patio. He has so much pleasure in this card that I find myself laughing along with him. He is so animated and pulls the tab so vigorously that I know the card won’t last long. That won’t matter. For now he is happy. When the card is pulled to pieces he might ask someone to fix it, but in a very short time he will have forgotten it. That does not matter either. We live in the moment. Take pleasure in the moment.
Yet still I wonder? Is this the last Father’s Day?
The Meander: Like floaters in the eye the worry about lasts hovers constantly but unobtrusively in the background. You almost forget they are there. Almost.
Paula my friend, how I’ve missed you. I love your stories as always. Looks like you and I are in a similar situation. I too am facing the unknown with my father. His end is sooner than we thought. His docs aren’t able to defeat his cancer no more. We have no timeline, no idea what my fathers end will look like. Will he suffer(like he already is), will he pass on in his sleep, will his body just shut down suddenly. Who knows. It is, for me, utterly terrifying; the gravity of what that will mean. We are having unbearable difficulty getting my mother into long term care up North. The care home, refuses to communicate with us, to inform us if there back to admitting new patients. The stress on my dad & myself is immense. I know all to well all those morbid thoughts. I have them more times than I’d like. I’ve had dreams of my fathers funeral. Horrible. I find myself in a constant state of despair, anguish, depression and anger. So much anger. I’ve decided I need more help to find ways to deal with my feelings, my emotions. I have to, for my own sanity. I’ve decided I need to look after myself more now , if I have any hope of dealing with my fathers impending death & my mothers progression in her Dementia. So much on my shoulders, more than I can bare, but bare it I must. I only hope I’m strong enough. I miss you my friend. I truly hope you find comfort and solace in your family, friends and in your many memories of your life with Bert. What an amazing life it is, was and might still be, for a little while longer. How lucky you been to have the time you’ve had. Hang onto that.
Be safe and take care.
Hugs to you!
Your journey ahs been difficult, I know. I am in awe of how you deal with the ‘double whammy’ and continue to do the best you can for your parents. I hope you keep the good times uppermost and try to see the ridiculous in the sadness. Remember, if you can laugh things are OK.
Thanks, friend. Hugs back at you.
You have challenged me to think of happy “lasts”. And I’ve come up with a few. e.g. the last basket of tomatoes I ever picked for pay (the summer I tried to earn money for school and discovered I was pretty hopeless, and slow, at tomato picking); the last time I worked as a waitress (ditto — but I also remember how comforting it was to know I could get work as an experienced server if ever I was completely down on my luck); the last time I had to make the 525-km weekend commute between Cornwall and Waterloo — but that reminds me how much I loved the library job in Cornwall, and the people I worked with, even though it meant being separated from my husband and son living in Waterloo. You’re right. It’s hard to think of any totally happy lasts.
Thank you again for showing us the complexity of our lives. Nothing is simple. Everything is richer and more layered than it at first seems.
Thank you for sharing the gift of your marvellous writing skills. You really are amazing. Much love,
Oh dear, you just made my day! I was laughing the whole way through your comment. I worked for three very long weeks as a comptometer operator doing inventory for a number of grocery stores while I waited to get the call for the job at the library. When I got the call it was a gleeful last to hightail it out of that particular job.
There seems to some poignancy attached to each last. I may not have liked the job but I did learn what a comptometer was and how to use it. No learning is ever in vain. I do appreciate the compliment. Thank you.
It is such a blessing that you and Bert are together to enjoy so many happy minutes. I hope there will be many lasts to make memories that will be with you forever. You are an inspiration.
Thank you, Adele. Every day brings a new ‘last’. I do not have to look for them as dementia changes constantly. Memories both happy and sad are being made. Thank good ness my Bert sees them all as ‘funny’.