MOTHER
There came a time when Mum began to see that the cost of running her beloved Morris could not be maintained. She loved driving, would spend ages poring over road maps planning her trips out, usually accompanied by her gentleman friend, Charles, whom she had met at the Over 60s luncheon club. Whenever she was asked about her funeral wishes she would say she wanted to be buried in her Moggy. Mum was determined she would not forfeit her “only pleasure in life”; she worked out that the insurance, road tax, and maintenance costs would be greatly reduced if she had a Robin Reliant, and set about looking for the three wheeled vehicle. She found one for sale in Huddersfield, made the train journey, bought the car, then got the jitters about driving it back to the Wirral. I suggested that I drove my car and she could follow me in the Reliant. This seemed to give her confidence: we hadn't gone far along the M62 when she put her foot down overtaking me at over 70 miles an hour in her little yellow peril!
It was not long after that Mum's health began to deteriorate, getting more and more breathless, further restricting her activities. She was very lonely, Charles had died, she hated weekends on her own, rarely saw Graham and his family, so was getting more depressed. We started to make plans for her to move to Huddersfield so that I could give her more help and companionship.
I went to stay with her for a weekend in October. We went shopping together on the Saturday morning to stock up her larder, had a nice meal in the evening and a good chat. She told me that her twin tub washing machine had broken down earlier in the week; she had lifted the load into the kitchen sink for rinsing and had wrung the sheets out by hand.; it had been heavy work. The following morning, Sunday, Mum complained of chest pain and was violently sick. When the Dr. arrived, not wanting to make a fuss, she tried to persuade him it was “something I've eaten”, even though we had eaten exactly the same meal and I was alright. The Dr.,who seemed more interested in looking at the books on her shelves, sent me to an out of hours chemists with a prescription for the under the tongue angina tablet. I managed to get her back to bed but by mid-afternoon she was feeling worse so I phoned the Dr again. He said he would make arrangements for her to go into hospital. Mum got out of bed to go to the bathroom and collapsed on the toilet: I couldn't move her so phoned for an ambulance and went with her to the Countess of Chester Hospital. It had rained solidly all day. It was dark when we arrived, and the doors to the hospital were locked. Mum was groaning in pain. I was desperately trying to stay calm and reassuring, at the same time willing somebody to open up. It seemed like an eternity, but probably only a minute or two. After getting her settled on a ward I stayed with her until late into the night. She didn't want me to contact Graham, but I didn't have my car, there was no public transport, and I needed him to drive me back to Ellesmere Port. By this time Mum was quite confused. Graham saw her and spoke a few words, then we left.
Early on Monday morning, knowing that Mum always felt the cold, I took a duvet into her. While waiting to see her a nurse offered to make me a cup of tea. I'd only taken one sip when another nurse rushed in, grabbed me by the arm saying: ”Quickly, come with me”. I remember protesting that someone had bothered to make me a cup of tea, but she insisted on pushing me along the corridor to the ward. I don't know whether the life machine had been turned off – Mum just managed to say: “Tara Pat” (the Merseyside way of saying goodbye) then she passed away; her heart had given up. She was 72. It was such a shock. During the whole weekend I had never thought that there was the possibility she might die. That night I slept in her bed, berating her for leaving me, sobbing and frightening myself with the primeval howling coming from the depths of my soul.