Mother died on June 14th, 2011 at the age of 94. I am not sure why she died or why she was admitted to hospital in the first place just 14 days or so earlier. One thing is certain – going into hospital at that age, whatever the reason is tantamount to a death sentence.
I was not informed by my brother that she had been admitted to hospital and discovered only by ringing round the hospitals to see if she had been. That was 10 days after admittance. When I turned up to visit her he was there, looking very ill at ease. I said we had to talk, open up a line of communication. He didn’t want to do that, and would communicate through a third party.
I suggested we forgot about bygones (again) but he didn’t want to know.
About a week later the hospital rang at 11pm to say that she had a fall would I be visiting. As she was 50 miles away I said no not that night. There was no indication of any urgency. A doctor rang an hour later and said she may not make it through the night. Just as well I didn’t drive 50 miles in the early hours or I would have met the brother as he lives locally to the hospital. He was there when she died, which was appropriate – adoring son sees out adoring mother.
He later asked by e-mail if I wanted to arrange the funeral. I said no, he could do it.
She was after all, his mother more than mine as he became number one son when he was born 10 years after me. I don’t remember any affection from my mother ever. What I do remember is a biting tongue and nastiness. That only stopped when she was put on anti phsycotic drugs when she was diagnosed with senile dementia 9 years ago.
Anyway, it’s the end of an era and I still feel a sadness – just occasionally – despite how I feel but the good thing is that I don’t have to have any further contact with the brother. Maybe I wouldn’t anyway because I hear he’s on the way out.