I'm OK

The call from Dr Green came early, around 4.30AM. Luckily it was a Saturday, so Sarah didn’t have to worry about getting the kids to school. James could take care of things without the girls knowing where she was. “Good morning Sarah, I’m sorry to call so early.” Dr Green paused, waiting for a response. “It’s time,” she said gently. Sarah nodded along, tears starting to prick her eyes. Remembering after the awkward silence to acknowledge she’d heard the Dr’s words, “Yes, I’m leaving now,” Sarah said, catching her breath. James had stirred and had caught the jist of the expectant call. “I love you, you can do this,” he said, squeezing her hand. Today was the day Sarah’s Mother was going to die. 

She’d dreamed of this moment. Prayed for the day. Wondered what it would feel like, how it would happen. And it was nothing like she’d imagined. Driving along empty streets the short distance to the hospital she laughed at the irony that the radio was playing the same song she had listened to when her Dad was dying 5 years ago, a song she had avoided since. It felt like a pre-game warm up. Muscle memory playing its part to warn her what was about to happen. Still the feeling was the same - a mix of urgency and fear and a little excitement for the unknown. And pain. The kind of pain that cuts your voice off halfway through a sentence, because you just can't get the words out without struggling for breath and fighting the tears that come with the force of a tsunami. When her Dad died it was the first time she’d really known anyone dying. Everyone got to say their goodbyes and for Sarah, she was finally able to forgive him. She knew he had heard her, he almost smiled and lifted his eyebrows when she said the words ‘I forgive you’. When someone dies their body slows down dramatically. Hearing is the last function to go, the Drs had explained, the way for him to feel comfort in his final hours was to talk. She was glad she could say the things she wanted to without having to look him in the eye, yet still knowing he could hear her. It was a puzzle piece that she needed to place back to him, a weight from her shoulders she did not want to carry. It was his guilt and shame to have, not hers anymore. 

And now it was her Mothers turn. For years she had dreamed of this moment being the one time she could tell her exactly how she felt, without any arguments or fights or words thrown and not being heard, it was now here and she couldn’t think of what to say. Maybe she would know when she saw her. She knew theirs was never the Mother daughter relationship it could have been. Her Mother had always made Sarah feel it was her fault why it was never a great relationship. But Sarah was a fantastic Mum, she knew she was a good person, she was good inside. She knew she disliked her Mother a great deal and she wondered, in this very moment, her last chance to say anything to her, could she find any love in her heart to share with her Mother in her last few moments. This is when the tears started. Twisting down the empty roads to get to the hospital the tears turned into sobs. Wails. Was there ever a love there to begin with, did her Mother ever love her? As a child you love your parents with everything you have, all you have is love and connection and a desire to be accepted. Sadly Sarah had learned that that love was never reciprocated. Not in a normal way like her friends and their Mums. The Mums that hugged and wiped away tears and listened with absolute love. Her Mothers way of showing love as she was growing up was to buy her things. Not the things she needed at the time like a new outfit for a school disco or pimple cream, but clothes that were on sale that didn’t quite fit or weren’t appropriate for her age. Or music lessons, which she would later use as an example of how much she cared ‘If I didn’t love you, Sarah, why did I spend all that money on piano lessons for you?’ she would lash out in one argument. Or count how many photos she had of Sarah in her house, that must mean she had some love for her. But she could never say it. Her Mothers attempt at mothering made Sarah become a great parent, and yet this small child inside of her was still hoping, one day, simply being herself would be enough to be loved. But that day never came.

The sun was starting to rise as she pulled into the hospital car park. It was empty apart from a few un-returned wheelchairs and a couple of cars parked in the disabled bays. Locking the car and taking the first steps towards the entrance Sarah began to feel spaced out. This was it. The walk toward seeing her Mother for the last time had begun. It doesn’t matter how many times you think about this moment, it’s never quite as it seems. You plan and plan for a wedding and the day feels much like you’re watching someone else get ready or stand for photos. On the sidelines looking into someone else’s day. This felt much the same. She knew where she was walking to - she’d been doing the same walk for the past two months while her Mother recovered from the surgery that was supposed to take away the last bit of cancer. She’d done the walk in the times in between meetings working from home, after school runs, after bed times. She knew the faces of the nurses on shift. Porters dropping off and taking away uneaten meals. The meals she’d sometimes fed her Mother. 

Up the escalators, towards the double doors, take the lifts on the left to the 3rd floor, through the door on the right, buzz and wait to be let in, second ward on the left, bed 5. But now it was the last time.

When her Dad died he was frail, he’d been ill for a year and was so thin. He didn’t look the same person. And there was her Mum. Still. Breathing slowly. Her head tilted, eyes closed. She looked the same as she always did, just a little more tired. Not knowing how long they would have the moment alone together, she touched her hand. Nothing, no flinch or reflex. Much like how she’d always been, not responsive to any kind of closeness. Just once, Sarah hoped, her Mother would hold her hand and squeeze it. Look longingly into her eyes and ask Sarah ‘how are you’ with her only intention to listen back to everything her daughter said. Such wishful thinking now. 

Laying there, still, Sarah didn’t know if now was her time to say anything. She gathered her thoughts and was about to begin the rehearsed speech when the Dr came in. Dr Green had been taking care of her Mother throughout her stay in hospital and had been very sympathetic to the awkwardness of the relationship. The family dynamics she must have witnessed in her job had made her professionally amicable with every curt exchange she was drawn into. Taking Sarah to the end of the bed Dr Green pulled the curtain to and whispered her Mother didn’t have long to go. Her blood oxygen levels were dropping below 50% and her heart rate had lowered to 30 bpm. She was comfortable, she assured Sarah, and said it was only a matter of hours. “Can she hear me?” Sarah asked, wanting to hear both yes and no. Dr Green smiled, sympathetically and skillfully without answering the question and replied with an understanding smile “Talk to her, tell her how you feel”.

Sarah settled into the chair next to the bed. The rhythmic sound of monitors beeping gently let her slow down her breath and take in the Dr’s words. 

‘Tell her how I feel. How did the dr know?’ Sarah thought. For years she’d planned this moment and rehearsed what she would say. She’d tell her all the hurt she’d caused. She’d tell her that she didn’t need her love, she’d found her own love. She’d tell her she didn’t need her, she didn’t want to carry her Mothers shame around anymore, it was never her shame to carry. She’d tell her where she went wrong, how a Mother should protect a daughter. Why didn’t she protect her?  Angry tears started to fall. Angry at the hurt, angry at the love that was never there. Angry at the Mother that was dying. Angry that she would never have the chance to have a Mother the way everyone else had. 

Time seemed to pass in a vacuum. IV monitors beeped, feet and bodies shuffled past the closed curtains, beepers sounded notifying Drs of where they needed to be. All the while Sarah hadn’t moved. James had texted to say he was thinking of her, Sarah replied with a simple kiss. How he loved her, she never knew. She’d been a bright, outgoing, fun, broken, wounded girl when they’d met. He loved her for her vivaciousness and laughter, and stayed with her when she began to unravel her inner turmoil. The demons that had been kept at bay with copious amounts of drinking and smoking, not to mention a great ability to eat her feelings and abstain from anything had eventually taken over and won. Sarah had no choice but to give into how she was feeling and slowly build herself back up again. Confronting her Mother about how she felt and what she had experienced destroyed any remnants of their relationship. It was terribly sad yet irrevocably freeing at the same time. But it had made Sarah the truly good person she was today. Reaching through her painful past and healing her heart had been the step she needed to become a Mother herself and live through the fear of repeating the trauma she had known. She’d come out the other side with a wonderful husband and two very wonderful daughters. This thought made Sarah cry. Not tears of sadness now but tears of relief. She was on the other side. She had survived her Mother and made it through with her own life, her own happiness, her own amazing loving family and most importantly love for herself. She was OK. Her girls were OK. There was no drama anymore, no arguments, no twisted words or hurtful comments. “I’m OK” Sarah whispered, astonished, tears dropping into her lap. She looked up, took her Mothers hand and ran her thumb gently over her knuckles. “I’m OK, Mum.” she said again. “I forgive you.” Just then she felt mothers hand ever so gently squeeze her hand back, holding it for a few seconds. It was soft, but it was there. Sarah let out a laugh in disbelief, sniffling still while her tears slowed. She looked at her Mothers face, the shape of her jaw and the bump of her nose. She studied the curve of her eyebrows and the shape of her eyes. She held her Mothers hand. It felt smooth, with ridges down her nails, her veins pronounced. She had a small indent on her wedding finger where her bands had been worn.  

Sarah clasped both her hands onto her Mothers’ and held them there watching her Mother breath. As she watched her chest slowly go up and down the monitor beep began to crawl. It was time. “It’s ok, Mum, it’s ok,” she said. “It’s ok, I’m ok, go, it’s ok to go” whispering like a mantra, “it’s ok to go, it’s ok to go”. 

Sarah’s Mother died at 9.27AM, the exact time that Sarah had been born. Dr Green confirmed the death and squeezed Sarah's hand as she handed over the paperwork and forms, among them a leaflet on grief and instructions on what to do when someone dies. That was it, she thought. It was over. She was gone. 

The first thing that hit Sarah as she walked down the stairs to the exit of the hospital was the strong smell of coffee from the canteen. She could see people queuing waiting to pay for food, families making their way through the entrance - some to visit, some to say goodbye, some of their lives would be changed forever - much like hers.

She walked out of the hospital and felt the hot sun on her face. She closed her eyes, inhaled the summer air and felt her phone vibrate. Knowing it would be James calling, she picked up the phone, her eyes still closed and exhaled, finally. “I’m OK” she said.