View from close quarters (Remembering holding hands and promises made.)

Sitting up high I could see why people who walked past the room sneaked a second glance.
The small ward was packed with family and friends.
All of us created a hushed and sombre crowd around the bed that my dad occupied with mum seated by his side holding his hand.
Some made small talk with whoever was next to them, the rest looking at mum and dad.
I couldn’t really say they looked on in sympathy; it was more like respect and admiration.
The vibe I got – which I was proud to say – was two people surrounded by more love than should be allowed.
Why not?
They deserved it.
They’d been through so much together.
The crowded ward was impressive, the word got out that morning that dad was not expected to see the day out and the grapevine ran hot and all the family and friends had come to be by dad and mums side.
No excuses about work or kids or distance traveled were necessary because everyone was here.
Everyone expected the worse but dad had his own plans, he’d battled for seven plus years and wasn’t going to go because of some doctor’s prediction.
Or was it something else?
Eventually as the day wore on and everybody wore down, people had to make their leave.
Boredom is a word you don’t say allowed as a visitor at a hospice but all I can say is: I ‘m glad I smoked back then.
Waiting for someone to die isn’t exactly a spectator sport nor is it an exciting experience.
By about eleven thirty that night it was just mum and dad alone again as it had been for all those months previous , the nurses would come and ask mum if she needed the mattress and a blanket so she could plonk down next to dad.
Love is a strange thing and I often marveled at mum ability to sit quiet and patient with her husband who hadn’t really been able to do much more than blink for the last six weeks due to amount of morphine that pumped into his body as part of the pain control.
But she never faltered or complained.
I did know why, forty years ago she made a solemn vow at her wedding and she never wavered from that promise, no wonder she was so critical of today’s relationships.
It was about two am when dad moved in his bed, this of course sparked mum in action and sat her self back at the head of the bed holding his hand.
The cancer that was doing its best to knock the old man had finally found that straw that broke the camel that dad had been the spine of for so long ……… or maybe dad had other plans.
Dads eyes popped open wide and a spasm forced his body to sit bolt upright ( an act considered impossible in the last year or so, ) into mums arms as he made some sobbing noises, mum held him tightly and then felt his muscles relax and soften and she held his weight as he left this world.
Mum kissed his head and lay him down on his pillows and closed his eyes then kissed him tenderly on the lips and forehead.
As she came out of the room the night nurse looked up and mum gave a knowing shrug.
The nurse – an old hand – came around from her station and gave mum a hug and asked if she wanted to use the phone because things had to be done now.
I was the first called mainly because I lived the closest and mum would know I wanted to be there.
I was awake a split second before the phone rang, like I’d sensed it in my dreams.
Mum didn’t do her usual ritual of announcing who she was even though I always knew it was her calling.
“He’s gone Dan, it’s over no more pain for dad”
I don’t remember hanging up or driving to the hospice, I just remember mum looking so composed and dad looking so peaceful.
I do remember it as the start of a whole new life for all of us.

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dad, danny, memories and mum