The Curtains Call

The sense of emptiness and longing attached to losing a loved one is intense. It never truly goes away. Grief is ugly, messy, complicated and makes no sense. It does, though, gain new meaning as time goes by. I hope that through sharing one of my grief stories, you won’t perhaps feel as alone in yours.

 * I originally published this on my Medium blog site back in 2016. Many years later, I still feel every word I wrote back then. This story will likely never reach those it could encourage, as despite being my work? It will probably still get picked up for plagiarism- due to the fact I have shared it on another platform. If you find this relatable, please feel free to share it.

As I drove into the parking lot of the hospice for the first time on that crisp, cold late autumn’s day, I couldn’t help but not care for the backdrop this place was set against.

I didn’t think I took much notice of the sun dancing off the ripples of the lake beyond, like glistening diamonds. Resting beneath the perfect and cloudless blue sky up above. A stark contrast to the heavy dark cloud that had settled over my heart and mind over the preceding weeks.

The willows with their leaves almost gone, and branches leaning towards the water below, seeming to claw at the unseen; this picture reflecting the ache within me. It felt like I too was hunched over consumed with my own grief, feeling as cold and barren as the willows before me.

I was about to lose the rock in my life. The most wonderfully perfect, compassionate and strong woman I would ever have in my life, apart from my own mum… the truth was, I wasn’t ready.

Not now, not ever.

I walked into the foyer as my heart started racing, what was this feeling?

Panic!

I was 30yrs old wanting to throw a tantrum, I wanted to scream, I wasn’t ready to say goodbye!

It wasn’t fair that my Grandma was laying in that bed, just waiting as she slowly withered away. It wasn’t fair for any of the people in this place; I wished I could change their fate somehow.

As I walked down the unnaturally quiet hallway, through an open doorway to my right; I saw a young girl- alone in her bed. My heart which I thought could feel no more pain, seemed to shatter even more.

Was she too waiting?

Surely she wasn’t older than 20? My Grandma had lived a long life, yet here was a girl whose life hadn’t even had a chance to begin before her time came to hang in the balance between life and death.

Why was she in there alone? Where was her family? Did she have children, brothers, sisters? Would she leave behind the love of her life?

Again my mind screamed at the unseen: “Why?” and “it’s just not fair, don’t let her die!”

I finally entered the room that I most dreaded to be in, not realising at the time I would walk this green mile for over a week. It was surreal and felt uncanny; at times I could have laughed hysterically, as I marvelled that even as her life lay in the brink of death she still managed to get the family together.

This beautiful woman. Now so frail, eyes sunken back into her skull, skin as fragile as a butterflies wings; still just as beautiful as always- even as her candle was slowly dimming before us.

What I would have given to have her open her eyes one last time, for her to hold my hand as she lovingly gazed on my face…. To hear her say something…. Anything!

How I longed to be back in her kitchen, sharing my dreams, fears, accomplishments with the knowledge that my secrets would never leave that little kitchen. Knowing she would pray and take my problems straight to the throne room of her best friend.

Whenever any of us got a little lost as we so often did, regardless of how bad we screwed up we knew that she was fighting for us, prepared to carry half our load; taking them directly to her source of hope..

What now though? With those precious moments behind me, and just a broken heart filled with the memories of times long gone; I felt alone, scared and uncertain regarding the years for me yet to come.

I spent as much time as was possible in that little room that overlooked the pristine lake beyond it. As a family we would reminisce over times gone by, each individually trying to reassure her that we would be ok if she had to leave.

The Parkinson’s had taken its toll over the previous months. Her body had visibly shrunken with her inability to swallow. Throughout the months prior to this final stop, she had also lost the ability to cough; something I had always taken for granted.

Watching her slowly lose her battle was hard, for over a week she clung onto life, as though she was trying to soak in every last ounce of love and perhaps even enjoying having the family that she loved so dearly beside her as she waited for the curtains call through which she would quietly slip away.

 Never have I been so guttered by anguish as what I experienced in her final weeks. Never has my life felt so out of control and desperate as what I did in the days before she drew her last breath, and we received the call that simply confirmed that “Mummi’s gone”. Yet it is my final goodbye that will forever be etched in my mind like a photograph.

Her physical body lay there. I knew Mummi was no longer here. The presence she had possessed my whole life was simply gone. It was just her empty shell in that bed. I could feel it.

I stared at her lifeless body; she was dressed in such a pretty pastel pink shirt which had a matching bow tie beneath her chin, a long pearl necklace had been tied in a little knot across her lifeless chest, she wore a smart black cardigan which buttoned half way up. She was so very peaceful.

The bed sheets had been neatly folded over her tiny shrunken waist; yet it was her hands clutching a small wooden cross in her right hand and an artificial red rose in the left that became my fondest memory.

As I kissed her lifeless cheek, it was met with the ice cold feeling of death on my lips that sent its chill so very deep within my soul. I promised her we would meet again, in another time, another place, when it is my turn to answer the same curtains call.

As I slowly dragged myself away from that room, feeling like my legs were formed out of concrete blocks. I couldn’t help but notice the candle that sat flickering above her bed.

The only light left burning on that autumn’s day. In a room used to being so deeply etched in sorrow. That little candle sat dancing, casting its soft light against the wall. It swayed and it danced to its own bitter-sweet melody.

Like it sensed a celebration and heard the trumpets sounding as heaven welcomed this faithful princess  at those pearly gates. The gates she had lived her whole life to see.

Although my heart was breaking, despite knowing I would wake up day after day without her in my life to share my journey here on earth from that moment on- I drew comfort knowing one day I would see her again.

Together once more to share eternity, I know there at heavens gates she waits with my brother and grandfather beside her. Waiting and watching eagerly as one by one each of those she has loved and prayed for are together once more.