WITH YOU, ALWAYS

DAY 1

I lie curled up on the chair in Ma’s bedroom. The big old grandfather clock in the hall tells me that in one hour, my shift ends. Then Anne, my sister and only sibling, takes over. Ma’s only 52 and it’s agonizing to watch this killer disease they call Alzheimer's, entomb her day by day.

The low, mournful call of a Buff-spotted Flufftail, announces morning mist over the stream that runs through the bottom of our garden – Ma’s favourite place since I can remember.  I sit up and dry my eyes.  I slowly get up from the chair and take her hand in mine. The sharp smell of camphor cream hangs stubbornly in the air.  I see the familiar green and white jar on her bedside table. She’s such a fan that by now, she should have shares in the manufacturing company.

As little girls we complained bitterly when she caked our dry winter skins with camphor.  Our friends could smell us from a mile away and what’s more, all that cream was a dead giveaway when we played hiding-go-seek.

We live in the peaceful coastal town of Oyster Bay, Black Port.  Our pa works as a longshoreman and he’s a big man with a voice like thunder.  Ma on the other hand, is petite and softly spoken. For extra cash, she used to knit the most beautiful baby sweaters, cardigans, coats, booties, hats and blankets. You name it, Ma could knit it. I feel sad that my babies will never get to wear her creations.

Before the disease got the better of her, Ma received orders from as far as Stingray on the East Coast.  Then, every month without fail, she donated all the profits to the Delphinidae Orphanage.   Her affinity for the orphans runs very deep and Anne and  I have already decided that we will continue to make donations.  We are fortunate to work in the public library in Black Port. When the librarian left, Nana Brown, Pa’s mother, organised for Anne and I to take over as curators.  It’s a blessing that Nana Brown lives with us.  When Pa brought Ma home from hospital, she organised our routines and called in the help of Ma’s dear friend, Pauline or Nurse Polly, as she’s fondly known to us.  

Nana Brown actually tried to persuade Pa to keep Ma in hospital.

She said, ‘Séamus, Lizzy is under specialist care here at St. Luke’s.  She’s receiving the best attention, son.’

Pa would have nothing of it.

He bellowed, ‘My Lizzy will not be left alone to die in some obscure hospital room!  She is coming home. End of discussion.’

DAY 2

Another shift is about to end for me and my heart is heavy. The ‘old faithful’ strikes 4 am. Anne comes in shortly after and pats me on the back.

She says, ‘Morning, Em. How’s Ma?’

‘She had a relatively peaceful night.’

Anne says, ‘Good. Go on, get some sleep. I’ll see you later.’

I walk down the passage and hear Pa stir. He has been relegated to the guest bedroom. I decide to give him his coffee and breakfast in bed.

I knock and ask in a low voice, ‘Pa, can I come in?’

‘Yes, come in!  Morning my dear girl!’

‘Not so loud, Pa.’

‘You come as if you’ve been sent.  I need a cuppa to get me going. Thank you, Emily.’

‘It’s a pleasure.’

‘I heard you with Ma early this morning. How is she?’

‘She had a good night. I gave her some water to drink and she quickly fell asleep again.’

‘I can see you’ve been crying, Em. I know this is hard for you.’

‘It’s hard for all of us. You still aren’t getting much sleep, Pa.’

‘Don’t worry about me, Emily.’

He gives me a big hug and sends me off to get some sleep.

The birds are already chirping. They are oblivious to the ache in our hearts and unaware that our family patterns have changed.  

DAY 3

Anne’s late this morning.  She’s taking strain. I would never have imagined that we would be taking turns to look after our Ma. It was a shock when we started realising that her mind was breaking down.

Initially, we made light of the small changes in her behaviour but, as the disease dug it’s talons deeper, it was her sudden bouts of aggression that made us realise that she needed to see a doctor.

The first incident came as quite a shock. On a typically hot and sluggish Saturday afternoon, Pa and Ma were having tea on the veranda. He said something which she must have misconstrued. Next, in an uncharacteristic fit of anger, her shoe went flying and hit Pa on the head.  He was stunned and just sat still. Anne helped Pa, and I calmed Ma down as best I could. Another shocker was Ma’s sudden aversion to water. We caught on that she wasn’t bathing regularly and our intervention caused quite a commotion. The expletives she uttered, made a drunken sailor look like a namby-pamby.

DAY 4

There are still rare moments when Ma seems to recognise us and after supper, we hear Pa ring the bell.  Anne and I race to Ma’s bedroom with Nana Brown and Nurse Polly following close behind. We find Ma sitting up. Her big brown eyes are remarkably focussed.  She motions for Anne and I to sit by her. She holds our hands tightly.

This juncture is sacred but also bittersweet for me because I sense that it may be the last. Nurse Polly warned us that although Ma was peaceful, her condition was declining rapidly. She was loosing bladder and bowel control. She was also sleeping most of the time and I notice that even now, she’s fighting to  keep her eyes open. No one says a word in an attempt to prolong the moment.

Before long, Ma looses the fight and falls asleep and after a while, I make her comfortable. Nurse Polly leaves and Nana Brown retires for the evening. Later, I send Anne and Pa off to bed.  The house becomes very quiet and  instead of sitting on the chair, I quietly lie next to Ma.  As the hours pass, her breathing becomes very shallow. I instinctively know that her hour has come and I tell Ma how much I love her.

I wake Anne and she brings Pa through. Nana Brown joins us. I’ve never seen Pa so distraught and my heart goes out to him. Ma’s favourite scripture is Psalm 23 and Pa bravely stumbles through the verses.  Before the end of the passage, one single tear drops onto Ma’s cheek and, she exhales. Her light goes out and tears like rain, fall from our faces. A pain like fire burns inside me.

I say aloud, ‘Goodbye Mamma.’

A grief-stricken Anne runs to her bedroom and Nana Brown runs after her. 

DAY 5

The day before Ma’s funeral, Nurse Polly pops in to see us. After a while she calls Anne and I aside and tells us that she needs to speak to us privately.  We sit in Ma’s bedroom and I pretend that she’s there with us. 

Nurse Polly says, ‘Girls, I think your ma realised that something was happening to her. Long before she was diagnosed, she asked me to give these to you.’

Nurse Polly gives us each a letter and a beautifully wrapped box. 

‘I met your ma in the community hospital.  It was that time when her appendix ruptured.  Your ma shared a semi- private room with a young lady who was very ill, shame. I can’t remember her name. Anyway, one morning we had a crisis in the general ward and on top of that, we were short staffed. There was no one to bathe the lady before visiting hours.  She became extremely anxious because she was expecting a visit from her husband. When I finally got to her, your ma had already bathed and prettied her up and she was ready when her husband arrived. Your ma was still recovering from surgery herself, and I scolded her, gently. It was the start of our wonderful friendship. Oh my soul, I miss her so much.’

Nurse Polly becomes tearful and quickly leaves the room.  She has a letter for Pa too and wants to leave it on his pillow.  He hasn’t moved back to his room yet and  I don’t think he will. Anne gives me a hug and goes to her bedroom. I stay and carefully open my letter.  

My darling Emily,

The day you were born, Nurse Polly put you in my arms and it was then that I comprehended the full extent of my blessings. It was a pivotal moment and as I held you, I decided to give back to society, somehow. Thank you for always bringing the best out in me, Em. 

Darling girl, don’t be sad when I’m gone. I’ve had a wonderful innings! Your pa is the love of my life and you and Annie are my life. I’ve loved watching you grow up. You are incredibly kind and generous. Your heart has always been in the right place.  It’s a privilege to be your mother and I thank God for you and Annie, every day. I love you dearest.

With you, always

Ma

7 June 1947

I open the box and see the most beautifully knitted baby jacket and matching booties, in brilliant white. I pick the baby booties up and kiss them. I catch a hint of camphor and feel that I can’t wash them, ever.

DAY 6

It’s a big funeral. Family and friends, basically everyone in the Bay and some from afar, have come to pay their last respects. Anne holds my hand like when we were little. 

Afterwards, we all gather at the Town Hall for tea and sandwiches. The men have something stronger and the funeral becomes a wake as is customary in our neck of the woods.

DAY 7

I go out into the garden. The flowers are mourning the loss of the gardener, their heads are limp. I go down to the stream and sit on a bench that Pa made for Ma a few years ago.

‘Mamma, I miss you. How are we supposed to go on without you?’

I didn’t think I had any tears left. After a while I catch a hint of camphor and realise that my mind is playing tricks on me. Then, I hear something behind me, turn and see Pa. 

He says, ‘Are you alright, Em?’

I nod and then he shows me something that makes me cry even more.  It’s a bench plaque.

In loving memory of ELIZABETH QUINN BROWN

7 June 1895- 22 December 1947

Forever in our hearts

DAY 8

Pa is lost and very depressed. He spends most of his time in his room or rather the guest room. He point-blank refuses to move back to the main bedroom.  It’s early days but Nana Brown is worried.  She approaches Pa carefully.

 She says, ‘Séamus, I think you need to get away, son. I’ve asked Andrew to take you fishing this weekend. I want to take the girls shopping. I’ve spoken to them and they are fine with it.’

Andrew (or ‘Baggy’ as Anne refers to him because of the ill-fitting trousers he insists on wearing)  is Pa’s brother. They have always been close.  Some time ago, they built a floating houseboat and before Ma fell ill, they went on many a fishing trip together. They are both partial to the pristine fishing waters of the Stingray Estuary and Nana suggests that they go there. Pa, not happy at first, eventually agrees.

DAY 9

Pa and Baggy left early this morning and Nana Brown and Anne left for Black Port shortly after.  I didn’t want to go anywhere and decided to sleep late.  It wasn’t meant to be and I abruptly wake to the sound of someone knocking on my bedroom door. 

I sit up and say, ‘Annie, is that you? Since when do you knock?’

Silence. I lie down again thinking that I must have been dreaming.  I close my eyes and after a few minutes, I hear it again, louder this time. I jump up and open the door but no one’s there. I close the door and ask myself if someone’s playing a joke on me.  More knocking and I stand stock-still and stare at the door. 

Then, another series of loud knocks.  This time, I open the door quickly.  Still, there’s not a soul in sight. I slam the door shut. My heart starts to pound and I grab an old tennis racket from the cupboard.  I’m very ready to whack this clown. With racket in hand, I stand as close to the door as possible and place my other hand on the handle.

After a few minutes, brisk knocking occurs again and before you can say ‘Jack Robinson’, I fling the door open. There’s no one there however, I’m instantly overwhelmed by the unmistakable smell of camphor cream. The smell soon permeates the whole house. Totally baffled, I carefully examine each and every room to ascertain the cause but, nothing is out of place. I phone Nurse Polly.

‘Nurse Polly, please can you drive me to Stingray, right now. I’ll wait on the pavement and explain on the way.’

We reach Stingray in record time. I didn’t think Nurse Polly’s old Buick had it in her.  We head for the jetty and I breathe a sigh of relief. My prayers have been answered. Pa and Baggy have not launched as yet. Pa is the first to spot us and he gets quite a fright.  He runs to meet us.

He’s as white as a sheet and asks, ‘What’s wrong? Are you alright?’

I hug Pa and say, ‘Yes, Pa. We’re all fine.’

We walk down to Baggy.

I say, ‘Thank goodness you are both okay.’

Baggy says, ‘Of course we’re okay.  What’s this all about, Em?’ 

I say, ‘Let’s all sit down and I’ll explain.’

I tell them what happened and I tell Pa that they have to come home with us. This get’s Baggy’s tail up and he tells me I’m being ridiculous. 

He says, ‘There is a logical explanation, Em.’

I say, ‘Oh most definitely. Ma came to look for Pa and I’m taking you and Pa back home with me.’

Baggy is about to protest vehemently when Pa interrupts him.

He says, ‘Let’s pack up, Andrew. End of discussion.’

DAY 10

The following day, Nurse Polly phones. Nana Brown answers and Nurse Polly tells her to listen to the news. She tells Pa and he turns the wireless on.

Liam Abberton’s voice drones on as he reports:

“A ferocious storm has hit Stingray. Gale-force winds are downing trees and tearing off rooftops. Seas are extremely rough. Several persons have sustained serious injuries and the death toll has risen to three. Extensive rescue operations are underway in what is fast developing into a disaster area...” 

Pa becomes quite emotional. He turns the wireless off, smiles at me and nods in acknowledgement.

I close my eyes and quote Ma’s words, ‘With you, always.’

THE END