Eileen signed the visitors’ book in her mother’s room and checked the other entries. Just as she thought, she and Ruth were the only visitors. They were the dutiful daughters who continued to visit regularly, not that their mother would remember having any visitors. Eileen threw the wilted roses into the bin and filled the vase with fresh water for the chrysanthemums.
She found her mother in the gloom of the TV room, where a few residents dozed in their lazy boy chairs, with gaping mouths, or stared vapidly at the screen, as David Attenborough expounded on the natural wonders of the Antarctic and commercials expounded on the wonders of: Burger King Stunner Meals. BK your way. Domino’s giant pizzas. Nobody’s got more sports gear than Rebel Sports. Pascoe’s diamond and gold sale. Matthew McConaughey strolling coolly along a lively street with a bottle of Wild Turkey Bourbon in hand. Wild Turkey. It’ll find you.
Eileen wheeled her mother’s chair out into the common room away from the noise of the TV. She kissed her cheek and said, “How are you Mum? Everything all right?” Her mother’s face remained blankly impassive. She hadn’t spoken in over a year. She had communicated by writing on a pad for a time but even that had stopped. Eileen wondered if she understood or even heard what she was saying. Probably not, but she chatted about the family as though they were having a conversation. Her mother reclined, securely strapped into her chair, motionless but for the fidgeting of her hands and running her fingers through the curls of her wispy, white hair.
“Kevin’s got a new teaching job and he and Annie have moved to Hamilton. They couldn’t afford to live in Auckland on teachers’ pay, even with Annie working part-time. Who can afford to live in Auckland these days, eh?”
The TV ads, always louder than the programmes, continued in the background:
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Eileen became aware of the distinctive stink of faeces above the faint odour of urine and called Nora to take her mother to the toilet to clean her up and change her diaper. Those caregivers certainly earn their meagre pay.
“What’s happened to her socks?” Eileen asked.
“I don’t know,” Nora said. “They seem to disappear in the laundry.”
“I’ll bring some new ones next time, with name tags,” Eileen said.
“Paul’s in Wellington,” she told her mother, “working as an economist for the Reserve Bank. Robyn’s passed all her exams and she’s been accepted into medical school.” It seemed absurd to keep bringing family news to her mother but Eileen continued with the charade. “So, we’ll have a doctor in the family.”
“Time for lunch, Pam,” Nurse Charlene announced, as though the old woman would actually respond. They wheeled her back to her room and poured her ‘lunch’ into the PEG tube in her stomach. Motor neuron disease had robbed Eileen’s mother of the ability to swallow and to speak, though her dementia had become so advanced that she was beyond communicating anyway.
*
When Eileen went to Ruth’s café for a ‘catch up’ their conversation started in the usual way, with Eileen saying, “I visited Mum the other day.” and Ruth asking, “How was she?” and the customary reply, “Just the same.”
But then the conversation took a new turn when Ruth said, “I think we should consider ending her life.”
“What, euthanasia?”
“Yes. The law allows it. What’s the point of keeping her alive? She’s just existing, without any awareness.”
“We don’t know that. She might still be aware.”
“She has absolutely no quality of life,” Ruth said. “She’s incontinent. She can’t even eat, so she’s lost what was probably the last bit of pleasure in her life.”
“No, no way,” Eileen objected. “I won’t agree to that, and neither would Paul.”
“Paul. What does he care? He never even goes to see her.”
“He does care. He cares too much. He came to visit Mum with me last year and she didn’t recognise him. When we left he sat in the car and cried. He just couldn’t handle seeing her like that. Anyway, now that he’s living in Wellington it’s not easy to just drop in for a visit and Claire has never really cared for our side of the family.”
Ruth finished her flat white and placed the cup on the saucer. “I still say we should let her die with dignity. As the eldest and the one with the EPA, it’s my responsibility.”
“We’ve already got the Let her die option,” Eileen said. “We agreed on the Do not resuscitate. There’s a big difference between Let her die and Kill her. It won’t happen without my agreement. I don’t agree with the whole End of Life Choice law change. I still believe in the sanctity of life even if our government doesn’t.”
“What if she was suffering?”
“She’s not suffering.”
“We should discuss it with Paul,” Ruth said.
“He won’t agree.”
“It’s all very well for him, down in Wellington, busy making money,” Ruth said. “He doesn’t have anything to do with her.”
“And speaking of money, how much is in her estate now?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Ruth replied. “About 1.5 million. It’s reducing every month with the nursing home fees.”
Eileen looked around at the few customers in the café, then confidentially at Ruth and said, “How’s your catering business doing? It took a big hit with the Covid lockdowns, didn’t it.”
“Yes, it did,” Ruth said. “The business is going under and I could lose the house. What are you getting at?”
“I’m just saying you could use the money.”
“And I’m sure you could too,” Ruth said tersely. “How can you be so mercenary? The money doesn’t come into it. I want what’s best for Mum.”
“How can death be best for her?”
“You believe in the afterlife, in heaven,” Ruth said, calmly assuming the voice of reason. “She’ll get to be with Dad again. She’s just sitting in God’s waiting room.”
“Well, she can wait her turn,” Eileen said. “She can go in God’s time. Not in your time. She probably hasn’t got long to go, anyway.”
*
Pamela Kirkwood’s motor neuron disease progressed, as Doctor Wylie said it inevitably would, gradually shutting down her breathing. Both her daughters were there at the end. She was unresponsive as usual but her eyes seemed to focus clearly on their faces in fleeting recognition and then on something above her. She raised her arms to the invisible presence, drew one last breath and folded her arms on her chest.
The funeral was held in the nursing home chapel and most of the extended family attended. Ruth delivered the eulogy. She said her mother was a woman of great faith and kindness and she spoke of the sadness of their loss but also the happiness that she had gone to a better place. The celebrant then opened the floor to anyone who wanted to say a few words. Paul spoke lovingly of their dear mother and a few of the grandchildren spoke tearfully of their beloved Granny. Eileen, in her turn, talked about how their mother had lived for the family and had them in her thoughts right to the end, even when she seemed to be lost to them.
After the proceedings, after the service, the refreshments and the interment at the cemetery, Eileen and Ruth went back to their mother’s room to gather up her personal belongings.
“It was a nice thought,” Ruth said, “that bit about the family being in her thoughts right to the end, but it was a bit of a stretch, really.”
Eileen had a bag of their mother’s things: some clothes, jewellery, a photo album, her Bible and a few other books. “When I went through all her things I found this. A diary. Yeah, she kept a diary. She hadn’t written in it recently but she was still writing after she stopped speaking.”
Eileen read from the diary:
“Locked in. Locked down. Locked out.
My girls visit me – they tell me about the family – it brightens my day.
My angelic visitors brighten my night.
Lots of stuff about the grandkids. Some stuff about Jesus.
My Father’s house has many rooms. I am going there to prepare a place for you.
And look at this, the last entry:
I wait upon the Lord.
Let me stay. Let me go when God calls me home.”
Ruth looked closely at the writing to make sure Eileen hadn’t written it herself.