Aunty B

Aunty B died late afternoon yesterday.  She took a nasty fall last week and the family were told to prepare for her candles to burn out that day, but she rallied and returned to her former bright and witty self.  Mr B and Mr B Senior drove half the length of the country to spend some more time with her and had a great afternoon with chat and laughs.

Early the next morning her husband woke Mr B (in his hotel room) with a phone call – Aunty B had ‘crashed’ and the Macmillan nurses were there.  Mr B went and held her hand for a while before driving all the way south again.  He had not been long back in our house when the phone went and the bad news was delivered.

Death is a strange thing when you have watched it creeping up.   One day a person is alive, the candles are burning, the chandeliers have a glow and then, like the end of the ball, the lights flicker as the candles burn down, the glow fades, the party is over; as the place empties out, darkness and an empty silence envelop the room that once was a life.

Mr B had the awful task of ringing his father, his other sister, visiting their Mum, calling his three daughters – every time repeating that news was another arrow in his grief.

 

To add insult to injury he woke up today with a really raw throat and a bad cough.  I sat on him to reassure him that Dr Tigger was in the house, but he told me that life goes on….he has people he promised to help today and they don’t know about yesterday.  Maybe he needs the distraction for a few hours.