The events in this blog occurred in the summer of 2009. My mother was in hospice care, and I went to England for a few days to see her again and say goodbye, and to visit England and Wales again. While I was there I kept a journal of each day's events, which I emailed nightly to my brother Philip and my Dad. Some of this was a very personal and emotional journey.
I'm reposting it here merely for posterity.
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Preface: Before the journey
On May 12th, Snooze and I will be flying to England for a week and a bit.
I'm going to visit England again, and to re-visit some of the places where I grew up. Tyglyneiddwen, Eglwysfach, Machynlleth, and other Welsh names you can't pronounce.
And it'll give Snooze a chance to visit England.
But the main reason I'm going is to visit my Mum.
My mother, Frances Mary Cook, has been one of my best friends and a supportive figure for years. My parents seperated in 1972 and divorced in '74 , but she knew I was pagan before I did! (She's not pagan; Mum is a devout Christian, but she understands and appreciates the pagan perspective. )
Mum has always had a very direct way of looking at the world. Years ago, in one of her letters, she mentioned that she'd like grandkids one day. Really, 'mentioned' is the wrong word. The first line of her letter was, "Miles, when are you going to breed?!"
And at one point our snail-mail conversation came around to sexuality. Out of the blue she said, "You're not bisexual, are you? If you are, the best of both worlds to you!" What a great thing to say! (Really, I consider myself bi-sensual -- I embrace both genders emotionally and spiritually, but not physically.)
And when I told her about my Wiccan pursuits, she immediately understood and accepted it. She was regularly sending me newspaper clippings about various goings-on involving Druids and Witches in the British Isles. She devoured JK Rowling's books, and wishes she could go to Hogwarts!
But now she is in the twilight of her life. She's in her 70's, and she is in hospice care with untreatable throat cancer.
She has become a frail, bedridden woman, finding comfort in her family and her memories. Her voice is gone; she communicates with pen and paper.
I know that when people learn of a sick relative, the immediate response is to send healing energy. While I appreciate the thought, I know that the time for healing energy is long past. What she needs is guidance for a smooth and painless transition.
My brother Philip went to see her a month ago, and now that Snooze and I have our passports (finally!), it's my turn.
This is something I've never done before - say goodbye to my mother - but it's something I need to do.
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-------------------------------------------------
Preface: Before the journey
On May 12th, Snooze and I will be flying to England for a week and a bit.
I'm going to visit England again, and to re-visit some of the places where I grew up. Tyglyneiddwen, Eglwysfach, Machynlleth, and other Welsh names you can't pronounce.
And it'll give Snooze a chance to visit England.
But the main reason I'm going is to visit my Mum.
My mother, Frances Mary Cook, has been one of my best friends and a supportive figure for years. My parents seperated in 1972 and divorced in '74 , but she knew I was pagan before I did! (She's not pagan; Mum is a devout Christian, but she understands and appreciates the pagan perspective. )
Mum has always had a very direct way of looking at the world. Years ago, in one of her letters, she mentioned that she'd like grandkids one day. Really, 'mentioned' is the wrong word. The first line of her letter was, "Miles, when are you going to breed?!"
And at one point our snail-mail conversation came around to sexuality. Out of the blue she said, "You're not bisexual, are you? If you are, the best of both worlds to you!" What a great thing to say! (Really, I consider myself bi-sensual -- I embrace both genders emotionally and spiritually, but not physically.)
And when I told her about my Wiccan pursuits, she immediately understood and accepted it. She was regularly sending me newspaper clippings about various goings-on involving Druids and Witches in the British Isles. She devoured JK Rowling's books, and wishes she could go to Hogwarts!
But now she is in the twilight of her life. She's in her 70's, and she is in hospice care with untreatable throat cancer.
She has become a frail, bedridden woman, finding comfort in her family and her memories. Her voice is gone; she communicates with pen and paper.
I know that when people learn of a sick relative, the immediate response is to send healing energy. While I appreciate the thought, I know that the time for healing energy is long past. What she needs is guidance for a smooth and painless transition.
My brother Philip went to see her a month ago, and now that Snooze and I have our passports (finally!), it's my turn.
This is something I've never done before - say goodbye to my mother - but it's something I need to do.
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Day 1
Landed in Philly around 4, and we spent two hours at the airport getting a bite to eat and riding the Robert-Heinlein-inspired slidewalks to get the right gate.
When we arrived at the gate, they had British flag balloons up, people taking pictures, the pilot and crew shaking hands with people.... this was US Air's first flight from Philadelphia to Birmingham, and they were making quite a fanfare of it!
The flight was seven hours, but we'd left the US at 6:00 pm. When we landed in Birmingham, it was 6:00 am, sun was up, but it felt like 1:00 to us. The night went by in record time! Watching the moon reflecting over the clouds, as white as a beacon, and seeing the sun come up over Ireland - fingers of pink dawn to full sun in 15 minutes - was a treat!
We borrowed her phone to call Janet, who first tried to give us directions to Swallow's Meadow Nursing Home, but then said, "Hang on, make this easier, I'll just come pick you up."
Five minutes later the doctor opened the door and said we could go in.
She is VERY frail and small, with pale skin and thinning hair. She has a breathing tube connected to her neck that pumps warm mist all around. Her hair is thing, but not white. Grey, but not white. She has liver spots, and her right thumb was held at a funny angle, like the base of her thumb had been broken and re-set. (Had it?) But her eyes are still strong - not the watery, washed-out looked I'd been anticipating, but the strong, vibrant mischevious look I remembered. This was definitely Mum!
Heather left us along for a few minutes, and Mum settled back in her bed and drifted in and out of consciousness, while I held her hand and stroked her hair and told her I loved her, and cried, I knew I was going to, but I didn't want to upset her, so I just cried as quietly as possible. Heather left us alone for twenty minutes, and I held Mum's hand and talked quietly about our flight and such. I didn't want my stuttering to distress her either, so whenever I felt a block about to happen I just held my voice until I felt I could speak easily.
Mum would open her eyes every now and then and tighten her grip on my hand, but never asked for pen and paper.
It's now 5:30 local time; after an eventful day and a bit of an adventure, we've had a nap and feel much better!
Miles
Day 2
Hi all,
Talked to Linda
and walked around the back garden for a bit, then drove to Swallow's Meadow to
see Mum.
Mum was awake and writing something when we went in, and she opened her arms to give me a hug. She smiled a lot, and her eyes were bright. Her color looked better today too, and she didn't have her neck-tube thing plugged in. She wrote questions for us and we answered as well as we could - "What did Philip say?", "How long are you here?". She wanted to write another question but dozed off in the middle of writing it, and instead smiled apologetically, crossed it out and wrote, "sorry, brain lapse. Rapid effect of childbirth." and gave me another hug.
We left the car there and took the bus out to Walmley. When we got to 63 Fox Hollies, I saw that the security gate was open, so we walked up to the door and rang the bell.
After a minute an eldery Sikh gentleman answered, and I
explained that I wanted to visit the house because I was born here. He asked me
how long I lived here, and I explained I was only there for a little bit, that
I grew up in Wales but used to come back every summer for holiday. When I
mentioned the names Frank and Dorah Cook, that settled something in his mind
and he said we could look around.
Through
a side window I saw a younger woman (wife? daughter?) storming through the
house to confront the man about who we were and why we were there. I suppose he
placated her enough to let us wander the grounds a bit. She watched us the
whole time we were there, but I did take some nice pictures of the house.
Changes to
the property:
The
trees over the driveway have been cut way back to so as to only frame the
driveway, not arch over it.
There is
an ornamental pond in the beginning stages of existence, off to the right of
the driveway.
Halfway
down the driveway on the left is a new cottage.
There is a
children's playhouse on the right side of the
driveway.
The drive
around the house to the right now stops parallel to the back of the
house; there is a new retaining wall there. The side of the house was
littered with children's toys.
The little
garden behind the behind the dining room is still there, but the path going
back to the shop is boarded up.
The
greenhouse at the back of that garden is no more. I don't think the property
extends that far anymore.
I wasn't
able to see inside much, only brief glimpses through windows, and I didn't want
to make an issue of trying to peer in.
After
leaving #63, we went poking around in Walmley woods. It's actually BIGGER than
I remember!
We picked some bluebells and rhododendrons to give to Mum, then
went to The Fox pub for late lunch. Meat carved to order, all the yorkshire
pudding, gravy and veg you could want, for $3.60 each. Hmm, no key on this
computer for British pounds.
And I got
rhubarb crumble with custard!! I haven't had decent rhubarb since Grandma Batty
made it at Tyglyn! What a treat!
Took the
bus back to Solihull, and learned to send text messages while on the bus.
And
Philip, you didn't tell anyone about The Delhi, a wonderful Indian restaurant
across from the Saddler's Arms. REAL Indian curry, oooooo slobber slobber.
(it occurs
to me that half the content of these emails have been spent talking about
food!)
More
tomorrow.
love,
Miles
Day 3
Got up
around 8, had brekkies - another lashing of bacon, tea, etc etc - and went to
Solihull to get some cash out and catch the bus to Swallow's Meadow.
Mum was
dozing when we got there - had her glasses on and a notepad in front of her,
but she'd dozed off holding it.
She heard
us coming in and took her glasses off, smiled brightly and gave me a hug. We
told her we'd been to Walmley, to see the house, and that we'd picked some
bluebells and rhododendrons for her. She seemed momentarily confused but
appreciated the flowers, and I tried to tell her about the trip to Walmley. She
only seemed to be halfway listening, and kept nodding off.
I asked
her if Larry was coming by, and she tried to write, "Where's Larry?".
But her writing has been getting visibly worse, almost hour by hour. The word
"where" was scratches and lines, and the word 'Larry' was written in
increasingly tiny letters, all jumbled together. She gave up and closed her
eyes.
While Mum
was dozing I did look through a couple of old pages she'd written. I don't know
who she was writing to, or when it was written, but she had said things like,
"What
does the doctor say about it?"
"I
feel like I'm only half aware of what's going on around me."
"I
can't do anything - typically useless."
"Why
am I here?"
"Tell
him I love him."
"DYING"
Heather
found a letter from Larry addressed to me, that he'd placed on the dresser on
Monday. I think he'd expected me to find it on Tuesday but we didn't see it
until today. So I called him and we made plans to meet at #160 at 3:00 o'clock.
Then the
head nurse for her floor asked me if I'd like to have a chat in her office, so
Heather and I sat down with her to talk about Mum.
She said
Mum's deteriorating visibly, that even in the few days since she came to
Swallow's Meadow that her condition is 'not looking bright'. Salient points of
what she said was that when asked if she wanted a stronger dose of morphine,
Mum had said yes.
The other
day she had asked Mum if there was anything she could do for her, and Mum had
mimed pulling the tube out of her neck and slitting her throat.
She said
that since yesterday morning, Mum has refused having her hair done or putting
any make-up on, as if there were no point to it.
And that
she's not picked up a crosswords in four or five days.
I asked if
she were able to go to the bathroom by herself, and the nurse said no.
She said
that last night - Thursday night - Mum was very agitated, and had
tried to pull the tube out of her neck by herself.
The nurse
asked me if I had any thoughts on further care - they have the option of
providing advanced care, or allowing a DNR (do not resuscitate) order, and I
said I didn't know if I had the authority to make any such decision. I did
volunteer, though, that knowing Mum's pride, I really doubted she would want
medical treatment to keep her lingering on like a vegetative shell. Remember
that she did refuse chemo.
She said
she'd like to hear from you, too, Philip. (She did give me her number, but
I'll be buggered if I can find it now. I'll get it for you before we head
back.)
After that
sobering conversation, I almost broke down in the elevator back to the ground
floor. I asked Heather, "Have I just killed my mother?" and she said,
"You did what your heart told you to do. I think Mary would be proud of
you."
God I hope
so.
She looks
bad, you know. Lying in bed, her mouth open, the tube in her neck breathing for
her. She can't eat, drink, taste or smell, or speak. And now she's losing the
ability to write!
She's bone
thin, her skin alternating between warm and cool. But she still has her eyes!
Those see-through-you, bright brown eyes. Still full of spirit, even if she's
not able to communicate.
We went to
see Larry at #160, and talked to him for almost two hours. He talked about how
he and Mum met, about how he's lived in that house since it was built in 1934 -
he was four when his father bought it, but now he pays rent to a landlady.
He talked about how Mum used to spend hours polishing the brass, and tending
the garden.
He's let the garden go since she's been hopitalised. He cuts
the grass regularly, but he hasn't weeded the flowerbeds or tended to the
fishpond since October. "My heart's just not in it any more." Heather
took some cuttings of ivy Mum had planted, and promised to replant them in
North Carolina. 'Mary's Ivy', we called it.
He talked
about how as hard as it is to accept, he will have to face the day
when Mum ("My Mary, my sunshine") isn't going to be coming home.
He said that she does have a DNR order in place. As much as he hates it he
thinks that's for the best.
He worried
aloud - many times - how he's going to survive once she's gone. The whole time
he was talking about her, he was talking in the past tense. Poor soul.
Larry gave
me Carol's number, and we're going to spend some time talking to her when we
get back from Wales and Holmfirth. He also gave us the address of the cemetary
where Frank and Dorah Cook are buried. I am going to pay a vist there before we
head back. I've just realized that we went to see 63 Fox Hollies on May 14
- Grandma Cook's birthday. Wish I remembered that when I was there.
The most
depressing day here so far - but likely the most important. Bugger.
Mum, I
love you. Always.
Miles
Day 4
Our
day began with yet another first-class breakfast at the Ravenhurst. Getting
spoilt, we are!
We
left Solihull and drove to Sutton Coldfield, to visit Frank and Dorah Cook's
grave. The cemetary is right next to Good Hope Hospital, on Rectory Road.
Larry'd told us vaguely where their grave was, but I had to wander the graves
before I realized they are arranged chronologically. So I found my way to the
1983 burials, and soon found 'Francis Arthur Cook and his devoted wife Dorah'.
If
you ever do manage to go there, they are in plot #2317. I paid my respects, and
we took the obligatory pictures before it began to rain.
Then
back on the road, headed for Wales. Had a bit of trouble navigating the exits
(junctions) between the M42, M6 and M5, but soon found ourselves heading
towards Wolverhanpton, Shrewsbury and Welshpool.
Took
more inevitable pictures of each of us posing by the 'Welcome to Wales' sign
just outside Welshpool.
Followed
the signs to Machynlleth, and I proudly showed off the Clock Tower to Heather.
More pictures.
I
showed her some of the older buildings, and followed my nose to the Train
Station. Aside from the LED display boards over the tracks, it hasn't changed a
bit! More pictures.
Walking
back to the car, we heard violin and accordian music coming from a VERY old
(1500's?) building, "The Tannery' on the corner as you come around
towards the Clock. We poked our noses in, and a couple of young ladies had
created 'ambient scultpure', hanging hand-carved black wooden ravens and
jackdaws from the rafters. They were rehearsing for an upcoming perfomance, We
talked to them for a minute, then returned to the car.
Drove
onto the A487 towards Eglwysfach. Damn, I didn't remember the road being that
narrow - or that twisty!
Got
into Eglwysfach at around 5:00, and I cheered as I drove past Tyglyn. She's
still there!
We
tried to find a parking space, and I was all the way to the church before I
gave up and turned around back to Craig-Y-Derin to park in from of Ruth Jone's
house. (That's how I remember it!)
Walked
back to Tyglyn to have a look around.
I
didn't see any "Bed and Breakfast" signs, so we rang the doorbell
just to see what might happen. A somewhat apprehensive man answered, and I told
him that I used to live in this house - I'd grown up here, He asked me what my
name was, and the name David Batty rang a bell. He said his name is Dafyd
James, He told me Tyglyn USED to be a B&B, but that he bought the house
five years ago and it's a private house now. He's been doing some work on it. I
asked if I could take a couple of pictures, and he said Yes, and would we like
to come inside, He was obviously very proud of his work, and of the house. He
lives there with his wife and three daughters, and several dogs.
He
did insist, though, that I not take any pictures of his family.
Changes
he's made to Tyglyn:
The
privet hedge, wrought iron fence and gate are gone - just open tarmac from the
front wall to the road.
The
porch is still there, but no stalwart concrete eagle.
There
is scaffolding over the bay windows in front of Grandma's room, and the
engraved "Tyglyneiddwen" sign was leaning by the side of the porch.
The
inlaid tile floor in the hallway is just the same!
The
ornate fireplaces and mantles in Mum's Sitting Room and Grandma's Room are just
the same, but the walls have been repainted. No pics.
The
Study was locked. No pics.
The
Breakfast Room and Kitchen have been totally redone - he's knocked the wall out
between the two rooms, and put modern countertops and appliances all through
the kitchen. The Breakfast Room is now off-white, with hardwood panelling
halfway up, and there's a modern fireplace in the side wall (towards
Machynlleth).
There's
a door in the Kitchen, leading out onto the balcony (!) that overlooks the back
garden.
I
couldn't take any pics of the Breakfast Room or Kitchen, but the balcony is
visible on the outside,
The
yew tree is gone - he said it was rotted and dying and in danger of falling
into the house. He had it pulled down.
I
did sneak a pic of the cellar steps - just the same as always, but the walls
have been repainted. Damn, those are narrow! And steep!
(His
wife, whose name I didn't catch, wishes you'd left some Elderberry Wine for
them to discover!)
He's
paved the driveway, put a staircase down from the back of the driveway to the
back garden, and paved the side of the garden all the way down from the
driveway to the back wall.
(I
don't know how he plans to drive anything down there, but it's definitely
paved!)
The
apple orchard and Grandma's rhubarb patch are gone. The gooseberry bushes are
still there!!
I
wasn't able to go upstairs, and I think Mr James was getting a bit exhasperated
with me poking around the inside of his house. So I took a couple more of the
back garden, and thanked him profusely for his hospitality.
It
brought a tear to my eye to see that the Old Lady is being watched by someone
who obviously loves and cherishes her, and plans a lot of great things for her
future. Tyglyn is most definitely in loving care!
I
plan to write to Mr James and thank him for taking such good care of
Tyglyneiddwen. I love that house!
We
left Tyglyn and walked down to the School. It's become a private house as well,
and part of it appears to be an artist's studio.
They've
put a wooden fence up along the read edge of the building, and there are tons
of construction materials, piles of things under tarps, shovels and
wheelbarrows and pallets of sacks of concrete, all in the yard where the
lavatories used to be.
I
did get some pics of the building, though.
We
drive up to Furnace, so I could show Heather Furnace Falls and the waterwheel.
Really
great things happening there - it's been restored to the point of not falling
into collapse, and it's been declared a Historic Site. There are information
placards up all around it, with diagrams of how the wheel worked, what it was
for, when it was built and so on. I got closer to it, and got a better view of
it, then I ever could before! I knew it was built in the 1700's, but didn't
realize it was used to make iron ingots.
Heather
took a few pictures of it, then realized that our digital camera records video
as well, and took several minutes worth of video footage of the building. And
Furnace Falls is just as vibrant as ever!!
We
drove back to Machynlleth, and asked at the White Lion for B&B rooms.
$25(GBP) per person per night for a decent hotel room and breakfast. We checked
in, then went down for dinner. I had roast faggots and mushy peas, and Heather
had grilled salmon.
Tomorrow
we plan to go back down to Eglwysfach so we can climb the Foel.
love
you all,
Miles
Day 5
We
woke up this morning in one of the hotel rooms of the White Lion in
Machynlleth. Breakfast (more food) was thick Welsh bacon, mushrooms, poached
eggs, fried bread and tea. Delightful!
Started
the day walking around Machynlleth. Got to see the public park with ornate and
impressive gate, Owain Glyndwr's parliament house, and some more 19th century
Welsh slate architecture.
We
saw where someone had scrawled grafitti on a wall, "Batty's wank
lane". It looked recent.
Drove
back to Eglwysfach, and went to St Michael's church. We spoke very briefly with
an old, friendly vicar, Before he got in his car and left, he said the church
was still open, to go on in. We'd just missed morning services.
We
went inside and met the Church Warden, Joy Neil. I told her who I was, and she
remembered me, and all of us. She expresed her condolences for Mum's condition.
I asked her what the vicar's name was, and would he remember us? "That's
Aubrey Newell," she said, "He'll remember you. He remembers everyone.
She
told me about the 2008 celebration of RS Thomas, and gave me a program book
from the poetry festival in his honor, and showed me his plaque on the wall of
the narthax.
We
took some pictures of the church, inside and out, and of some gravestones. I
walked the cemetary to see if I might recognize any names, but no such luck.
The name 'David Einon Jones' rings a bell, but not sure who that was.
Drove
back to the fork in the road by the Post Office (now a private residence) and
drove up the back road towards the Foel. I stopped to look in the old cave I
remembered, and got a few pics of that.
Drove further up to the fourth cattle
grid (bloody hell that was some white-knuckle driving! Narrow one-lane roads,
drop-off cliffs, collapsing stone walls), and parked the car and followed the
footpath up the Foel. We climbed probably two-thirds up, to where we could see
the estuary, the Irish Sea, and distant land on the horizon. (Ireland?)
The
wind was picking up and ominous clouds were looming, so we decided two-thirds
was good enough. Besides, we climbed to the top of the Foel when we used to
live here - I didn't feel the need to go right to the top again.
I
realized that while I was born in England, and I've lived in several US states
and Canada, Wales - around Eglwysfach and Machynlleth - that will always be
"home" for me. Sitting on an outcropping of stone on the Foel, I felt
at home. Settled, contented, at peace.
We
climbed back down the Foel, and drove on down to Aberystwyth. Stopped just
below the National Library of Wales to get a look around. We spent half and
hour exploring narrow streets and closed (not shut down, just closed for
Sunday) storefronts, before realising we were both quite discouraged by
Aberystwyth. It had an air of irritability and hostility about it that left us
both feeling vaguely depressed about being there.
Left
Aberystwyth and drove back up towards Machynlleth. Stopped off at a handicrafts
shop in Tal-y-bont to buy some touristy souvenir things for friends, then
continued up the road.
In
Glandyfi there's a new business, a sister project to the RSPB. The Nature
Conservancy of Ceredigion has a public bird-watch program - they have an
information center and a bird-watching hide built, from which you can see a
family of nesting ospreys. I took pictures of the nest as best as I could be
holding the camera lens to the telescope.
Went
back on through Machynlleth, and continued up through Derwenlas.
I
found out that there's a place called The Centre for Alternative Technology'
that promotes eco-friendly living, reneweable power, things like that. Their
campus is in Derwenlas. Google them sometime.
Continued
up towards Dolgellau, and overland towards Queensferry. Had to stop in Bala to
get better directions, and a really friendly chap who drives a lorry between
Dolgellau and Huddersfeld told us exactly the way to go, which roundabouts to
be careful on, even which towns have good public lavatories! Wonderful chap.
Continued
on through Queensferry, through Manchester, towards Sheffield, to Huddersfield,
and found our way to Holmfirth.
Driving
through the country, it occurs to me just how close together everything is!
Manchester is only 35-odd miles from Sheffield; I have to drive 35 miles just
to get from Concord to downtown Charlotte and Concord is a suburb of Charlotte!
Good god.
We
drove across the Pennine Way toward Huddersfield - at night! Couldn't see a
buggering thing.
Called
Sam Chappell ("Chaps") to say we were entering Holmfirth, and where
is his house?
We
met up with him, finally getting off the road around midnight, and went to an
Indian Take-away for curry.
I'm
proud to say that Hilary's grandson is a wonderful, intelligent, witty man.
Definitely a Batty.
More
tomorrow.
Day 6
The adventure continues!
Woke up in Sam Chappel's house - he slept on the couch and gave us the bed - and we chatted about Hilary for a bit.
He has a lot of fond memories of Hilary, and obviously misses her terribly. He said that Simon left the family when he was seven, and he was never really close to his Mum, so Hilary raised him as her own. He said that she always had a smile on her face, that she was an eccentric and free-spirited woman. He said he got this new house because he couldn't live there alone when she died.
I got a little video clip of Sam talking about Hilary, and of him playing a piece of music that he wrote for her after her funeral.
Woke up in Sam Chappel's house - he slept on the couch and gave us the bed - and we chatted about Hilary for a bit.
He has a lot of fond memories of Hilary, and obviously misses her terribly. He said that Simon left the family when he was seven, and he was never really close to his Mum, so Hilary raised him as her own. He said that she always had a smile on her face, that she was an eccentric and free-spirited woman. He said he got this new house because he couldn't live there alone when she died.
I got a little video clip of Sam talking about Hilary, and of him playing a piece of music that he wrote for her after her funeral.
We went outside and he showed me an unusual feature of the yard - buried under an overgrowth of brambles and ivy are three little stone houses, each no more than two feet high, and a tiny stone bridge. We think that a little girl who used to live there (he doesn't know how old the house is) played with them.
We drove into Netherthong, and Sam showed us the church, All Saints Parish, where both Hilary and Grandma Batty's ashes are buried. They have a brass plaque on the walk along the side of the church. We took some pictures of the plaque, and of the still-bare patch of soil from where Hilary had been laid to rest.
Then we went to look around the church. It's a beautiful, old gothic stone church, built in the early 1800's. Buttresses, gargoyles, huge oak doors with iron rivets, massive stained glass windows, the works. We took plenty of pictures. The main door was locked, but I saw a sign over the keyhole, "For key, enquire at the shop across the road". So we went across the road, and sure enough they gave me a MASSIVE cast iron skeleton key, eight inches long. It would not surprise me at all if this was the original key, two centuries old. On the same ring, looking quite insignificant, was a tiny modern steel key.
With great fanfare I turned the skeleton key in the lock and opened the massive doors, and we stepped inside.
The church is not big, only eight pews to a side, but with spectacular stained
glass windows in the over the chancel. But the sanctuary was behind locked
interior doors, so I tried the smaller key, to no avail. We went up the side
stairs to see if it would fit any other doors, again without success. When we
were about to give up and leave the mysteries of the church untouched, I
noticed a sign over the interior door that said, "push". So I did.
Eureka! The door swung wide open, we all had a good laugh, and went inside.
We explored the sanctuary, took more pictures, and I saw a row of books on one pew with a collection box. So we picked out some good books on British history and gardening, and I paid double what they were asking for them. We left the church and I returned the Most Awesome Key to the shopkeeper.
Back outside, Sam suggested that we go take a look at Hilary's old house. We drove there, and looked around her treasured, but now overgrown, garden. Heather suggested taking some flowers from Hilary's garden to put at the plaque, so we collected a good assortment and headed back.
We put the flowers in the vase, and I told Grandma and Hilary that we love them and miss them. We took more pictures, and I suggested looking around the cemetery. Lots of older graves, dating back to the 1700's. There was one, part of a pair of graves that framed the path to the main doors. The one on the left dated to 1810, and belonged to John Prowde, the Church Warden. The one on the other side could not be read, because the inscription was in Anglo-Saxon, or Runic, or something like that. Definitely not English! We took pictures of it, and I noticed a tiny little cairn, maybe a foot high and three feet across, adjoining the mystery grave. (Wonder if there's any connection between the little girl's stone houses and the cairn?) So we got pictures of that too, and of some wonderfully carved headstones elsewhere in the cemetery.
Eureka! The door swung wide open, we all had a good laugh, and went inside.
We explored the sanctuary, took more pictures, and I saw a row of books on one pew with a collection box. So we picked out some good books on British history and gardening, and I paid double what they were asking for them. We left the church and I returned the Most Awesome Key to the shopkeeper.
Back outside, Sam suggested that we go take a look at Hilary's old house. We drove there, and looked around her treasured, but now overgrown, garden. Heather suggested taking some flowers from Hilary's garden to put at the plaque, so we collected a good assortment and headed back.
We put the flowers in the vase, and I told Grandma and Hilary that we love them and miss them. We took more pictures, and I suggested looking around the cemetery. Lots of older graves, dating back to the 1700's. There was one, part of a pair of graves that framed the path to the main doors. The one on the left dated to 1810, and belonged to John Prowde, the Church Warden. The one on the other side could not be read, because the inscription was in Anglo-Saxon, or Runic, or something like that. Definitely not English! We took pictures of it, and I noticed a tiny little cairn, maybe a foot high and three feet across, adjoining the mystery grave. (Wonder if there's any connection between the little girl's stone houses and the cairn?) So we got pictures of that too, and of some wonderfully carved headstones elsewhere in the cemetery.
Then we went to look around Holmfirth. Sam showed us his favorite pub, The Nook, where we had lunch. Lamb and apricot burger for me. Not at all bad!
We poked around Holmfirth, fed the ducks and pigeons that live by the Holm river, and I took some pictures of a great heron that waded by.
We went poking through some old shops, then went back to Sam's house to load the car. We dropped Sam back off at the Nook, and headed out towards the M1.
I am so very glad to have met another member of the family! Sam Chappel is a good man, and definitely Batty. He's got our blood in him.
We arrived in Solihull around 8:30, checked back in at the Ravenhurst, met John Keppy, and went to have dinner.
Tomorrow I'll go and see how Mum is doing.
Obviously, pics of Holmfirth will be sent soon.
love to all,
Miles
Day7
(Back at the Ravenhurst. Last night we'd locked the room door from the inside before
going to bed. At midnight I tried to open the door to go to the bathroom, but
the lock would not open! So in desperation I called John Keppy on my mobile and
explained the situation. He opened the door from the outside and said he'd get
the lock either looked at or replaced.)
We went out straight after breakfast, and took the bus to see Mum.
She was drifting in and out of consciousness when we got there, but opened her eyes enough to recognize me. She squeezed my hand repeatedly, but didn't recognize Heather. If anything, she had a look of terror when Heather came close - I imagine she didn't want someone she didn't know leaning over her like that.
Heather busied herself with refreshing the flowers on the windowsill while I talked quietly to her about our adventures in Eglwysfach and Holmfirth. I don't know how much registered, but just the sound of my voice seemed to soothe her.
She kept tugging at the collar that holds her tracheotomy (sp?) tube in place.
After a while she motioned to us to help her sit up, and with some difficulty wrote,"Tell them I need a doctor," then "they don't know me," then "Mrs Cook's daughter".
Heather went to get a nurse who asked Mum what she wanted. Mum motioned to her collar, and the nurse asked her if it hurt. Mum wrote, "AGONY", followed by, "I don't want any more."
The nurse brought her a dose of morphine to add to her liquid feeding tube. Mum resisted it at first, I think because she didn't want to be so drugged as to be unable to write or think. But then she relented, the nurse administered the dosage, and Mum fell asleep.
We left soon afterwards to go see downtown Birmingham.
We took the bus downtown - easier than driving - and while riding, I called Carol. We made plans to meet at Mum's room later that afternoon.
In Birmingham we went to a site I'd found online - a forty-foot high statue of the pagan Green Man, complete with live plants growing out of him. We got several good shots, in photographs and video, of the sculpture. (You can see better pictures of him than anything we took by opening Google, selecting Images, and typing in "Custard Factory Green Man".)
We went out straight after breakfast, and took the bus to see Mum.
She was drifting in and out of consciousness when we got there, but opened her eyes enough to recognize me. She squeezed my hand repeatedly, but didn't recognize Heather. If anything, she had a look of terror when Heather came close - I imagine she didn't want someone she didn't know leaning over her like that.
Heather busied herself with refreshing the flowers on the windowsill while I talked quietly to her about our adventures in Eglwysfach and Holmfirth. I don't know how much registered, but just the sound of my voice seemed to soothe her.
She kept tugging at the collar that holds her tracheotomy (sp?) tube in place.
After a while she motioned to us to help her sit up, and with some difficulty wrote,"Tell them I need a doctor," then "they don't know me," then "Mrs Cook's daughter".
Heather went to get a nurse who asked Mum what she wanted. Mum motioned to her collar, and the nurse asked her if it hurt. Mum wrote, "AGONY", followed by, "I don't want any more."
The nurse brought her a dose of morphine to add to her liquid feeding tube. Mum resisted it at first, I think because she didn't want to be so drugged as to be unable to write or think. But then she relented, the nurse administered the dosage, and Mum fell asleep.
We left soon afterwards to go see downtown Birmingham.
We took the bus downtown - easier than driving - and while riding, I called Carol. We made plans to meet at Mum's room later that afternoon.
In Birmingham we went to a site I'd found online - a forty-foot high statue of the pagan Green Man, complete with live plants growing out of him. We got several good shots, in photographs and video, of the sculpture. (You can see better pictures of him than anything we took by opening Google, selecting Images, and typing in "Custard Factory Green Man".)
We walked on down towards the Bull Ring, and found a VERY old inn called The
Old Crowne, built in 1383. It still has the original wall timbers and brickwork,
and pictures of every Monarch who reigned during its existence. There were
framed newspapers - probably originals - announcing the death of Queen
Victoria, the abdication of Edward VIII, and the coronation of Elizabeth
II.
We took several pictures of the building outside and in, the decor and architecture.
We took several pictures of the building outside and in, the decor and architecture.
Onward toward the Bull Ring, we stopped at St Martin's Cathedral, THE gothic cathedral in Birmingham. Gargoyles, flying buttresses, huge arching wooden rafters, carvings of knights lying in state, the works. Got more wonderful pictures.
In the Bull Ring, we window-shopped for the afternoon, and I bought several choice Doctor Who toys for myself and friends back home who can't find such things over there. (Do you know just how many years I've wanted a bloody remote control toy Dalek? Got one!)
Got back on the bus and returned to Mum at Swallow's Meadow. We finally met Carol - my sister by virtue of Mum and Larry's common-law marriage - and Frank (my assumed brother-in-law) and Larry. That's when I called Philip, just so he could be with us so everyone could be together.
We gathered around Mum's bed and chatted for a bit. She seemed to really enjoy having her family around her - even though she never opened her eyes, her breathing was comfortable and she smiled frequently. Her hair had been washed and makeup applied.
While we were in Mum's room, though, I noticed - and Heather agreed - that the light seems to have gone out of her eyes. No longer is the vibrant spirit and mischevious spark there. Looking into Mum's eyes now all I see is the shallow, unfocused gaze of someone close to the end.
When the nurses came in to replace her trach tube, the RN (Sue Angell, a wonderful woman) asked if we could all speak privately for a moment. She asked us who could represent Mum and speak for her. Larry said that nobody had been granted Power of Attorney, but they did have a solicitor to authorize the will. We discussed it - we all agreed that Larry, Carol, Philip and I represented her family, but that since Philip and I live too far away, Larry and Carol are her immediate family. So they signed the forms granting Advanced Care Practice.
The Advanced Care form asks, should anything take a turn for the worse, if we should move Mum back to a Hospital for emergency surgery, or keep her at Swallow's Meadow, which only has limited surgical and emergency care facilities. Keeping her at Swallow's Meadow would mean that such surgery would NOT be performed.
We all agreed that she should remain at Swallow's Meadow, even in the event of emergency. We based this conclusion on several factors:
Moving Mum again would likely be so stressful as to do more harm than good.
She didn't like the hospital; too clinical, too noisy, no privacy, and she can't have her flowers. Mum really loves having fresh flowers in her room.
She really likes Swallow's Meadow; she is treated with care and respect, and seems more comfortable there.
Her dignity and pride, and our respect for her sense of identity, are more important than grabbing at straws to prolong her life.
So the decision was made that Swallow's Meadow will be her final care, no matter what.
With that aside, here came the difficult questions: Does she want a Catholic service, or C of E? Do we have funeral arrangements made?
Larry said that she is C of E, and that she often said that she wants to be cremated and have her ashes sprinkled over the River Bly (sp?) so she could be with her beloved kingfishers.
Once that was dealt with and signed, we bid Mum goodnight and came home.
I love you, Mum. I can't say it enough.
God I wish this was easier.
Miles
Day 8
I
wonder if I've been unfair to Mum in prior entries.
During
my time here, the woman I've seen has been in a state of decline, her general
demeanor deteriorating. This was really all I'd seen of Mum, every time I came
by. I wonder if the morphine and pain medication she was on were making her
more sluggish and vague, and I'd just assumed that was her normal disposition.
But
was she normally more animated, and I was just seeing her on bad days?
This
morning was a delightful change from what I'd seen before, to such a degree
that I think I've underestimated her. She was animated and cheerful, and wrote
quite a lot to me; we had a relatively long conversation.
When
I came, Sue was talking to her; they were discussing her pain medication
dosage.
I
sat by her side and told her I love her. Mum wrote, "I love you too",
and I knelt at her bedside and cried. I've tried to be nominally objective
while dealing with this, but this was too much. I didn't know what to do.
Mum
stroked my hair and held my hand - I think that having the opportunity to
comfort me gave her something to do besides lie there. She could be a mother to
her son again.
Between
my speaking through tears and Mum's writing, we had quite an animated
conversation, much more than I thought she was able to achieve.
Mum:
What's that on top of the telly?
Me:
It's a picture of a kingfisher - when we were in Wales I found this beautiful
picture and had to buy it for you.
Mum:
Show me.
(I
went and put the postcard in her hands. She ran her finger across the text that
reads "Penblwydd Hapus" and looked at me quizzically.)
Me:
That says, "Kingfisher" in Welsh, I imagine - I never learned my
Welsh that well.
(Mum
looked at the picture a moment longer, held it it to her lips and squeezed my
hand tightly.)
Mum:
I love you.
Me:
I love you, too. So much.
Mum:
I love you Philip. I love you David.
Me:
Dad loves you, too. He asks about you all the time. He's very proud of his
grandchildren.
Mum:
Well that's something.
(pause)
Mum:
Last night I dreamt that I've died in your eyes.
Me:
You'll never die for me, Mum. I'll love you always. You'll always be my
beautiful Mummy.
Mum:
Rubbish!
(pause)
Mum:
Where am I?
Me:
Swallow's Meadow Nursing Home.
Mum:
Death chamber.
Me:
Do you think that's what it is?
Mum:
No - I have God and Christ and all that with me.
Me:
Yes you do! You will be well taken care of forever.
(pause)
Mum:
What am I doing here?
Me:
You're in a nursing home - they're helping you get through your cancer.
Mum:
"get through"?!
Me:
I'm sorry, poor choice of words, You're here to deal with the cancer. They take
good care of you here, everyone likes you.
Mum:
Under the circumstances I'm glad to be here.
Me:
It's a good place.
(Then
she saw my digital camera on the table and asked to see it.)
Mum:
No taking pictures.
Me:
I promise I won't. I'll remember you with my eyes and my heart.
Mum:
I'm going to die quietly.
(pause)
Mum:
Where is my Miles?
(I
started to answer that I was right here, and she tapped me on the head with her
pen and gave me an impish grin.)
Mum:
I've written your name on my soul.
(We
looked at each other and shared a warm, loving moment, eye to eye. There was
the Mum I remembered from childhood. Will I ever share this moment with her
again?)
Mum
dozed off for about twenty minutes, but when she woke up, she mimed brushing
her hair. She picked up her notepad and wrote, "Can ________ do my hair
for me?"
"How
would you like it done?" Heather asked.
"Rollers.
Comb. Vitally important." she wrote.
So
we helped her sit up and Heather set her hair in rollers. She had to do it
twice because the first try wasn't good enough. Eventually Mum was satisfied
with the result, and settled back to let the water dry.
A
little while later Sue came back in to see to her trach tube, and Mum asked if
we were going to be 'chucked out'. Sue said no; that we could be here anytime.
Mum asked if we could spent the night here, and Sue said yes - so it was
decided then and there that we would spent the night in Mum's room.
We
told Mum we'd be back in a bit, and she motioned for me to fetch her handbag.
"Do
you need lunch money?" she wrote.
"We're
fine - don't worry about it," Heather said.
We
left long enough to grab a bite to eat and see John at the Ravenhurst, and came
back a while later. Larry was already here and we chatted quietly for a while.
After
Larry left, Mum sat up in bed and swung her legs over the bed and tried to
stand up. We jumped up to help her, and Mum wrote, "What am I? A cripple?"
We asked her if she wanted to do and she wrote, "See the garden." So
the nurse went to get a wheelchair, and we helped her get clean pajamas on,
settle her in the chair and off we went.
When
we got outside, though, it was colder than we realized. Mum pulled her cardigan
closer and shivered, and when asked if she wanted to go back inside, nodded
yes.
So
we came back inside, and sat just inside the front door where Mum could see two
cats roaming the street, and birds and flowers. We all sat quietly for a few
minutes until Mum was visibly falling asleep and nodding forward in her chair -
and impeding her airflow by doing so. So we came back to the room and helped
her back into bed.
As
I write this, sitting at Mum's bedside, part of me wants her back just like I
remember and part of me wants her to go ahead and go.
This
waiting is hell.
(12:30
am)
I
think that the love one feels for one’s mother is greater, and stronger, and
more life-defining, than the love one may feel for any other woman in his
lifetime. (I’m sure both Oedipus and Freud would have a field day with the
notion, and that a thousand books have already been written on the idea.)
I used to love Kelly, and Melody, and I love Heather more today than I thought
I could. But Mum is… Mum. There is nobody else like her in my heart. There
never could be.
(2:00
am)
Mum
tried to get out of bed. She sat up and swung her legs over the side, and tried
to stand. We helped her stand, but didn’t know where she wanted to go. I gave
her a pen and she wrote, “need to wee”. We explained that the catheter takes
care of that for her. She relented and sat back down, and as we were helping
her back to bed Heather noticed that her leg was wet. Catheter tube must have
gotten pinched or something. So we left the room and let the nurses re-set her
catheter and her dressing.
(3:00
am)
I
think I’m glad to be pagan. I embrace Mum’s devotion to the Christian faith,
I’m glad she has it. But Christianity does not allow for the duality of
divinity, father-god and mother-goddess. I see the Goddess in my mother, as
Mother to her sons, and Crone, awaiting the crossing of the veil. The
recognition of feminine divinity needs to be valid, or else how can I accept
that God has a place for Mum in heaven. I’m not making a lot of sense.
(3:30
am)
I’m
sorry Mum, I know I said I’d be right here by your bed all night, but I need to
lie down. I can’t sleep unless I’m lying flat.
(6:30
am)
Morning.
Watching her sleep, I want to cradle her and make everything better. She's Mum,
she deserves it.
Day 9
We were awoken in Mum's room on Thursday morning by the night nurse, a cheerful
woman named Joy. Mum was still dozing, so we quietly gathered our belongings
and headed back to the Ravenhurst to freshen up. I was still emotionally
drained and dreading (is that the right word?) saying goodbye to Mum for the
last time.
We'd planned one last 'big outing' on this trip, a visit to a Bronze Age archaeological reconstruction site called Flag Fen. But my enthusiasm for the trip was tempered with the painful realization that I would never see Mum alive again. Several times on the short drive from Swallow's Meadow to Ravenhurst I was overcome with tears, and Heather had to drive.
We got back to Ravenhurst, showered and freshened up, checked the map, and set out for Flag Fen, near Peterborough.
The drive was luckily uneventful, despite occasionally getting lost. Road markers for Flag Fen didn't agree with the directions we'd gotten online, but we did eventually find the site.
Flag Fen is a wonderful place! Archaeologists discovered several rows of timbers, driven into the ground 3,000 years ago, which formed roadways, bridges and processionals over the fens. The roadways predated anything Roman, confirming the notion that early Britons were quite capable of building their own roads. A large portion of the uncovered timbers are preserved in a building, with a monitored climate, exactly as they were unearthed.
We'd planned one last 'big outing' on this trip, a visit to a Bronze Age archaeological reconstruction site called Flag Fen. But my enthusiasm for the trip was tempered with the painful realization that I would never see Mum alive again. Several times on the short drive from Swallow's Meadow to Ravenhurst I was overcome with tears, and Heather had to drive.
We got back to Ravenhurst, showered and freshened up, checked the map, and set out for Flag Fen, near Peterborough.
The drive was luckily uneventful, despite occasionally getting lost. Road markers for Flag Fen didn't agree with the directions we'd gotten online, but we did eventually find the site.
Flag Fen is a wonderful place! Archaeologists discovered several rows of timbers, driven into the ground 3,000 years ago, which formed roadways, bridges and processionals over the fens. The roadways predated anything Roman, confirming the notion that early Britons were quite capable of building their own roads. A large portion of the uncovered timbers are preserved in a building, with a monitored climate, exactly as they were unearthed.
Also on the site are reconstructions of Bronze Age and Iron Age dwellings, wattle-and-daub roundhouses with shallow, conical thatched roofs. Despite the fact that the houses were only three feet high at the top of the wall and twenty feet across, they feel very spacious inside.
The site includes recreations of Bronze Age crop and livestock farming, and a museum displays tools, jewelry, bones and weapons found in the site.
We took pictures and video, of course, spent a little while chatting with members of the staff, and bought some souvenirs and a couple of books by archeologist Francis Pryor, the site director, that are currently out of print.
At 3:00 we left Flag Fen, and drove back to Solihull. Congestion on the M1 kept us tied up in traffic for an hour. We made it back to Swallow's Meadow at 6, and met with Larry, Carol and Frank.
Mum was sleeping deeply; even with people talking in the room and the nurses administering her nebuliser she barely awoke.
I confess that I was glad of that - I had been worried what would happen if she would were awake on my last visit. I feared the scene I'd envisioned, leaning over Mum to tell her, "I have to go back to America now." We'd both know what that meant, and I dreaded my emotional collapse and the distress it would cause her. So maybe it was for the best that she was asleep. That meant that the last conversation we had was positive and loving, and that's what she'll take with her.
The five of us talked about Mum, and the trip back, and my journal entries, and we took some group pictures. Carol had given me a treasured photograph of Mum in her youth, and I held that for the pictures.
Larry, Carol and Frank left about an hour later, and Heather went down to collect our possessions, and dispose of trash, in the car.
I sat next to Mum, watching her sleep. I laid my cheek against her arm, and whispered to her how much I love her. I must have dozed off - after last night's vigil, and my emotional turmoil throughout the day, I was exhausted.
Heather returned to the room and sat with us a little while longer. Then when I confessed that I couldn't stay awake any longer, we got ready to leave.
I knelt next to Mum and watched as her chest gently rose and fell. Her fingers occasionally twitched and her eyelids flickered as she slept, but she didn't wake up.
"I love you, Mum," I whispered. "I love you so much. You are my life. I'm going to miss you. Thank you for - oh god - thank you for everything. Thank you for making me the person I am. Thank you for your sense of humor, your wit and charm. Oh god, I don't want to go. Mum, I need you. I need you. I'll always love you. I need you, Mummy. Come back please!"
I was leaning over her, my cheek touching her forehead as I whispered to her.
"Mummy, I love you, I love you. Be safe."
I closed my eyes and saw a glow around her.
"Keep her safe, God. Please do that. Keep her safe. This is an amazing woman, one of your masterpieces. Oh God please keep her safe. Take care of her. Take care of her. I love her so much.
"I'm giving her to you, God. I'm giving her to you. Please take care of my Mummy. Will you do that? I love her so much. Give her....." I couldn't finish the sentence.
I looked down at my mother through tear-streaked vision.
"Mum, go with God. You'll know when the time is right. Go when you need to. Be safe. Be safe in God's arms. He'll take care of you. Oh I love you, Mum. I'm going to miss you so much. Dammit I'm going to miss you. Go to Heaven, Mum. You won't have to hurt anymore. It'll be okay. God I love you.
"Goodbye, Mummy."
I turned to leave, and Heather knelt over Mum and whispered something. I couldn't hear what she said.
"Ready?" she asked me after a while, and I nodded.
We left the room and I turned for one last look at my mother. She was laying in bed, asleep, frail, breathing softly. In the twilight of her life, she still looked beautiful to me. Part of me wanted to rush back in and hold her, hug the life back into her, but I knew I couldn't.
We turned and walked down the long hallway to the elevator.
That walk from the room to the elevator felt like the longest walk I've ever taken. Each step was taking me further and further from my Mum, from the woman who gave me birth. Memories of her flooded my mind as we walked.
Mum wrote to me frequently - really, she wrote to me more times than I wrote to her. She always wrote about going to the River Blythe with Larry, and would mention the kingfishers and other birds she saw. She loved the kingfishers. In one of her letters she mentioned seeing clumps of frogspawn in the reeds, and wanted to take some home to have some tadpoles and frogs in the pond. But how would it look to see a middle-aged woman wading in the river up to her knees collecting frogspawn? Maybe she should hire a young schoolboy to do it for her, she mused.
(Every step down this long hallway feels like hell. My heart is breaking, I can barely breathe. God Mum I miss you so much already!....)
Montreal, 1991. We'd all traveled there to see Philip's (graduation? wedding? God I've forgotten.) Mum didn't stay long there, but while we were there, there was some confusion about finding the right elevator in the hotel. Mum made light of the situation and accused Dad of getting all of us into trouble.
On that same trip, she talked to me quietly about going to her mother's house in 1988 and finding her dead in her rocking chair. Grandma Cook had died peacefully in her sleep. Mum took one look at her mother, and her first thought was, "God I need a drink." So the first person she called was her Alcoholics Abuse sponsor. Then she got on the phone with her solicitor, the funeral director, and other relevant people.
(The hallway feels so long. Taking me away from my mother. God, what kind of son abandons his mother when she needs him the most? Who the hell did I think I was? Dammit, what am I doing.....)
Wales, 1984. I'd come back to the UK to visit; I was staying at Grandma Cook's house. Mum and I made plans to take a train and spend a couple of days in Wales. We got to Machynlleth, and found our way to the White Lion, where the regulars recognized us! Mum asked for a ride to Eglwysfach, and we spent the night at Tyglyneiddwen, which had become a Bed and Breakfast. The following morning, Mum wrote in the guest book, "Feels just like home."
On the same trip, we'd gone exploring the lands around the village the house. We found our way to the train tracks, and walked along those until we came to a signal box. In the little maintenance shed (the door was ajar so we had a peek in) we found a railway logbook, open to the last entry, dated October 1973. At the bottom of the page was a space for comments, and Mum had taken out her pen and written, '1984. Still no train. Late as usual. Sack all the lazy sods." Continuing on that walk we found ourselves on the RSPB bird-watching trail, so we followed it, long enough to realize we'd walked the trail in reverse, coming out at Ynis-hir Hall!
Mum said that it was typical for the Battys to find our way through a maze by going the wrong way.
(Passing another open door in the hallway. Inside, a nameless, forgotten woman sleeps all alone, her family far away. I'm sorry for you, tho' I don't who you are. God, I'm sorry. You deserve to be loved.....)
In another letter, she wrote about seeing a van parked outside the house marked 'Stationery Control'. She said she could imagine a conversation between two employees of such a firm. "Oy, Frank, open the van. I just caught this pad of notepaper trying to make a furtive getaway!"
(I can't do this. I can't go on. God how long is this hallway?! I miss you, Mum. Please come back to us......)
Montreal. Tuesday, May 5th,1972. Dad and Mum had been fighting a lot. They're arguing loudly every night, and Mum's drinking more. We used to occasionally go to the airport; Philip and I liked to watch planes take off and land. Today, we all packed into the car and drove to the airport. On the way, at the foot of the Champlain Bridge we passed a burning house. I was worried that the fire would melt the metal of the bridge! We got to the airport, Mum got on the plane and left. Dad, Philip and I came home. Nobody had bothered to tell Miles that Dad and Mum were breaking up, or that Mum was going back to England for good. I was scared and confused. I didn't know why my Mummy had left us. For eleven nights afterwards I cried myself to sleep.
(I love you, Mum. So much!)
Montreal, 1972. We often went out to eat - two of Dad's favorite restaurants were Le Colibri, and Joe's Steak House. On one such drive, we went past a massive cathedral. It was dark, and raining. Mum noticed a row of statues of saints on the very top of the building, overlooking the road. "Ho, see, bods, perched up there like!" We shared a good laugh over it.
(Only a few more feet to the elevator. I can barely see for the tears. I love you, Mum. I want you back.....)
Montreal, 1971. Every Christmas morning for several years, Mum would fill a pillowcase with sweets, toys, puzzles, all carefully wrapped, and leave the pillowcase at the foot of our beds. Philip and I would lie awake listening for it, then pretend to be asleep as the door was opened and the pillowcases carefully placed. I'm sure she knew we were only pretending to sleep. We always knew it was her pretending to be Santa. There was always an orange wrapped in tin foil in the bag, and a toy car, among all the goodies so carefully wrapped with love.
(I'm having difficulty walking. Heather has to hold me up. I can't feel my feet moving. Why isn't it me in that bed - let Mum be strong and healthy again. God this is so damn unfair....)
Wales, 1969. The day before, we'd gone to Machynlleth. In a shop on the corner I'd spotted a toy robot I really wanted, but Mum and Dad hadn't bought it for me. I knew I had enough money of my own - 35p - so I was determined to go and buy it for myself. So early Saturday morning, I set out walking the six miles to Machynlleth. I figured I could go, buy the toy, and be back in bed before anyone knew I was gone. But there was a police roadblock set up halfway there to catch an escaped convict or something. They saw a seven-year-old boy walking a long road all by himself, and assumed he was a runaway. So they drove me to the police station and called the house. Mum answered the phone. "It's the police," she'd told Dad. "They have Miles." Then she came to pick me up.
(I don't want to think about what I'm doing. I'm leaving my Mum behind forever. God I feel like hell. Nothing makes sense.)
Wales, 1967. I was four years old. We'd gone to a garden bazaar, I don't remember where. There were tables of things to buy, and I'd spotted a brooch made from an old British penny, when the penny was a massive coin. The price on it was 3p, but I only had 2p on me. "It's for my Mummy", I told the lady, who let me buy it for 2p. I gave it to Mum, who smiled brightly, gave me a big hug and put it on. I felt so proud!
(Heather pushes the button on the elevator because I can barely move. I make it to a chair in the lobby and collapse, crying uncontrollably. Heather holds me and lets me sob into her shoulder. I'm a wreck. Nurses coming on for their evening shift see us, and they know immediately what's happening. I'm sure its a scene they see regularly. To their credit, none of them make any inane goodwill comments about "I hope it'll get better." They all know who we are, and know who Mum is. "We'll take care of your Mum," they tell me.)
Wales, 1966. When I was a little boy, I slept in the middle bedroom in Tyglyneiddwen. I used to get terrifying nightmares, and I would often wake myself up screaming for Mummy. "I want you, Mummy!" Then she'd be by my side, holding me close, whispering to me, making everything better. "I'm here, Miles. Don't cry. I'm here."
(I'm sitting in the chair of a nursing home lobby. I'm a 46 year old man, with a house, a job, adult responsibilities. But right now all of that is crap. Right now I'm a terrified little boy who wants his Mummy to hold him close and tell him everything is going to be alright.
I want you, Mummy.
I need you. Oh god I need you. I always will. I love you.
Heather helped me and we got outside. I was in no shape to drive, so she helped me into the car and we left Swallow's Meadow, and Mum, behind. I'll never see her alive again. That's it.
I'm never going to see my Mum alive again.
We left the room and I turned for one last look at my mother. She was laying in bed, asleep, frail, breathing softly. In the twilight of her life, she still looked beautiful to me. Part of me wanted to rush back in and hold her, hug the life back into her, but I knew I couldn't.
We turned and walked down the long hallway to the elevator.
That walk from the room to the elevator felt like the longest walk I've ever taken. Each step was taking me further and further from my Mum, from the woman who gave me birth. Memories of her flooded my mind as we walked.
Mum wrote to me frequently - really, she wrote to me more times than I wrote to her. She always wrote about going to the River Blythe with Larry, and would mention the kingfishers and other birds she saw. She loved the kingfishers. In one of her letters she mentioned seeing clumps of frogspawn in the reeds, and wanted to take some home to have some tadpoles and frogs in the pond. But how would it look to see a middle-aged woman wading in the river up to her knees collecting frogspawn? Maybe she should hire a young schoolboy to do it for her, she mused.
(Every step down this long hallway feels like hell. My heart is breaking, I can barely breathe. God Mum I miss you so much already!....)
Montreal, 1991. We'd all traveled there to see Philip's (graduation? wedding? God I've forgotten.) Mum didn't stay long there, but while we were there, there was some confusion about finding the right elevator in the hotel. Mum made light of the situation and accused Dad of getting all of us into trouble.
On that same trip, she talked to me quietly about going to her mother's house in 1988 and finding her dead in her rocking chair. Grandma Cook had died peacefully in her sleep. Mum took one look at her mother, and her first thought was, "God I need a drink." So the first person she called was her Alcoholics Abuse sponsor. Then she got on the phone with her solicitor, the funeral director, and other relevant people.
(The hallway feels so long. Taking me away from my mother. God, what kind of son abandons his mother when she needs him the most? Who the hell did I think I was? Dammit, what am I doing.....)
Wales, 1984. I'd come back to the UK to visit; I was staying at Grandma Cook's house. Mum and I made plans to take a train and spend a couple of days in Wales. We got to Machynlleth, and found our way to the White Lion, where the regulars recognized us! Mum asked for a ride to Eglwysfach, and we spent the night at Tyglyneiddwen, which had become a Bed and Breakfast. The following morning, Mum wrote in the guest book, "Feels just like home."
On the same trip, we'd gone exploring the lands around the village the house. We found our way to the train tracks, and walked along those until we came to a signal box. In the little maintenance shed (the door was ajar so we had a peek in) we found a railway logbook, open to the last entry, dated October 1973. At the bottom of the page was a space for comments, and Mum had taken out her pen and written, '1984. Still no train. Late as usual. Sack all the lazy sods." Continuing on that walk we found ourselves on the RSPB bird-watching trail, so we followed it, long enough to realize we'd walked the trail in reverse, coming out at Ynis-hir Hall!
Mum said that it was typical for the Battys to find our way through a maze by going the wrong way.
(Passing another open door in the hallway. Inside, a nameless, forgotten woman sleeps all alone, her family far away. I'm sorry for you, tho' I don't who you are. God, I'm sorry. You deserve to be loved.....)
In another letter, she wrote about seeing a van parked outside the house marked 'Stationery Control'. She said she could imagine a conversation between two employees of such a firm. "Oy, Frank, open the van. I just caught this pad of notepaper trying to make a furtive getaway!"
(I can't do this. I can't go on. God how long is this hallway?! I miss you, Mum. Please come back to us......)
Montreal. Tuesday, May 5th,1972. Dad and Mum had been fighting a lot. They're arguing loudly every night, and Mum's drinking more. We used to occasionally go to the airport; Philip and I liked to watch planes take off and land. Today, we all packed into the car and drove to the airport. On the way, at the foot of the Champlain Bridge we passed a burning house. I was worried that the fire would melt the metal of the bridge! We got to the airport, Mum got on the plane and left. Dad, Philip and I came home. Nobody had bothered to tell Miles that Dad and Mum were breaking up, or that Mum was going back to England for good. I was scared and confused. I didn't know why my Mummy had left us. For eleven nights afterwards I cried myself to sleep.
(I love you, Mum. So much!)
Montreal, 1972. We often went out to eat - two of Dad's favorite restaurants were Le Colibri, and Joe's Steak House. On one such drive, we went past a massive cathedral. It was dark, and raining. Mum noticed a row of statues of saints on the very top of the building, overlooking the road. "Ho, see, bods, perched up there like!" We shared a good laugh over it.
(Only a few more feet to the elevator. I can barely see for the tears. I love you, Mum. I want you back.....)
Montreal, 1971. Every Christmas morning for several years, Mum would fill a pillowcase with sweets, toys, puzzles, all carefully wrapped, and leave the pillowcase at the foot of our beds. Philip and I would lie awake listening for it, then pretend to be asleep as the door was opened and the pillowcases carefully placed. I'm sure she knew we were only pretending to sleep. We always knew it was her pretending to be Santa. There was always an orange wrapped in tin foil in the bag, and a toy car, among all the goodies so carefully wrapped with love.
(I'm having difficulty walking. Heather has to hold me up. I can't feel my feet moving. Why isn't it me in that bed - let Mum be strong and healthy again. God this is so damn unfair....)
Wales, 1969. The day before, we'd gone to Machynlleth. In a shop on the corner I'd spotted a toy robot I really wanted, but Mum and Dad hadn't bought it for me. I knew I had enough money of my own - 35p - so I was determined to go and buy it for myself. So early Saturday morning, I set out walking the six miles to Machynlleth. I figured I could go, buy the toy, and be back in bed before anyone knew I was gone. But there was a police roadblock set up halfway there to catch an escaped convict or something. They saw a seven-year-old boy walking a long road all by himself, and assumed he was a runaway. So they drove me to the police station and called the house. Mum answered the phone. "It's the police," she'd told Dad. "They have Miles." Then she came to pick me up.
(I don't want to think about what I'm doing. I'm leaving my Mum behind forever. God I feel like hell. Nothing makes sense.)
Wales, 1967. I was four years old. We'd gone to a garden bazaar, I don't remember where. There were tables of things to buy, and I'd spotted a brooch made from an old British penny, when the penny was a massive coin. The price on it was 3p, but I only had 2p on me. "It's for my Mummy", I told the lady, who let me buy it for 2p. I gave it to Mum, who smiled brightly, gave me a big hug and put it on. I felt so proud!
(Heather pushes the button on the elevator because I can barely move. I make it to a chair in the lobby and collapse, crying uncontrollably. Heather holds me and lets me sob into her shoulder. I'm a wreck. Nurses coming on for their evening shift see us, and they know immediately what's happening. I'm sure its a scene they see regularly. To their credit, none of them make any inane goodwill comments about "I hope it'll get better." They all know who we are, and know who Mum is. "We'll take care of your Mum," they tell me.)
Wales, 1966. When I was a little boy, I slept in the middle bedroom in Tyglyneiddwen. I used to get terrifying nightmares, and I would often wake myself up screaming for Mummy. "I want you, Mummy!" Then she'd be by my side, holding me close, whispering to me, making everything better. "I'm here, Miles. Don't cry. I'm here."
(I'm sitting in the chair of a nursing home lobby. I'm a 46 year old man, with a house, a job, adult responsibilities. But right now all of that is crap. Right now I'm a terrified little boy who wants his Mummy to hold him close and tell him everything is going to be alright.
I want you, Mummy.
I need you. Oh god I need you. I always will. I love you.
Heather helped me and we got outside. I was in no shape to drive, so she helped me into the car and we left Swallow's Meadow, and Mum, behind. I'll never see her alive again. That's it.
I'm never going to see my Mum alive again.
We drive to O'Neill's, our favorite pub in Solihull. Larry'd had told me that it used to be called The Barley Mow, and that's where he'd met Mum in 1974. We felt it only right that should be where we have our last good meal on this trip.
We share a toast for Mum's final journey, finish our meal, and get home close to 11 o'clock.
Repack our backs, and get to bed for a few hours sleep before our 5 am alarm goes off to start the journey home.
Day 10
The trip back was exasperating; we had to go through US customs THREE times - in Birmingham, and in Dublin, and again in Philadelphia. The US customs in Philadelphia took so long we missed our connecting flight to Charlotte, and they had to squeeze us in on the next flight.
But we got home safely late Friday evening!
The animals are all safe and sound; they forgave us for leaving.
________________________________
My trip to the UK, May 2009 - addendum
A week after we got back - Sunday May 31st to be exact - I
got the telephone call from my brother.
"Mum passed away early this morning, around 6am her time. She went peacefully."
We'd all been expecting this news for weeks now, and I think I'm lucky I was able to see Mum when I did. Heather thinks - and I agree - that she was just waiting to see her two sons again before she let go.
When he told me, I didn't react, I just thanked him for the news. We talked for a few minutes, and I hung up.
In the few days since then, though, I've felt moody, depressed. Not overly emotional, just 'out-of-sorts.' I thought I'd gotten the grief out of my system with my daily journal, but I guess not.
The funeral service for Mum will be on June 11th; alas I won't be able to attend. I've sent Philip a short letter to read on my behalf.
(I still love you, Mum - I always will.)
blessings,
"Mum passed away early this morning, around 6am her time. She went peacefully."
We'd all been expecting this news for weeks now, and I think I'm lucky I was able to see Mum when I did. Heather thinks - and I agree - that she was just waiting to see her two sons again before she let go.
When he told me, I didn't react, I just thanked him for the news. We talked for a few minutes, and I hung up.
In the few days since then, though, I've felt moody, depressed. Not overly emotional, just 'out-of-sorts.' I thought I'd gotten the grief out of my system with my daily journal, but I guess not.
The funeral service for Mum will be on June 11th; alas I won't be able to attend. I've sent Philip a short letter to read on my behalf.
(I still love you, Mum - I always will.)
blessings,
Miles
Frances Mary Batty 1934 - 2009
