Moths to a Flickering Flame
A legacy of love and plastic food containers
So many medications- drugged to my eyeballs! I am prone on my hospital bed with eyes closed, pain just hovering on the peripherals of consciousness. I’m grateful for the respite but also dying to communicate with those around me. I try, but my body will not respond to my futile commands.
Beep, beep, beep, the electrocardiograph machine is a metronome; the soundtrack of my existence, announcing that even though I don’t appear to be, I am still among the living. Beep, beep, effing beep!
How long have I been here listening to that infernal machine, beep, beep, beep? I estimate a week, maybe more.
They have been visiting in pairs, ‘the animals come in two by two, hurrah, hurrah’, larger gatherings prohibited by nursing staff. I recognise today’s visitors, Emma and her husband, George.
“She looks kind of peaceful,” whispers Emma. I fancy a fairy touch of a cool hand on mine and the soft brush of lips to forehead.
“I guess,” agrees George, my beloved son, eldest of four, “Probably the meds. I hate to see her like this!” A soft, unmanly sniffle.
“She hasn’t had a bad run, I guess.”
If that is Emma’s attempt to encapsulate my life in a sentence, then, please God, don’t ask her to do a eulogy! A bad run? A good run? A great run? A bloody sensational attempt at life, I would call it! Sure, ups, downs, sideways- always challenging, filled with successes, failures, mediocre and glorious! Rejected, overlooked, accepted, loved! Yes, loved many times but only once by the right Mr Right who I am hoping to be reunited with expeditiously. Beep, beep, an unmanly sniff, beep.
But what’s this? More people are entering the room; different perfumes, lowered tones, more caresses. What happened to the bloody hospital rules? I don’t want a lot of visitors- I can’t cope, I can’t distinguish or understand the undertones. No fair, only two at a time, please! Beep, beep, a sniffle, beep, a small cough, beep.
So, I get it, they think this is the sayonara, the last goodbye. I know what this means, the circling of the vultures, about to swoop on the defenceless body lying prone under the scorching desert sun. I’ve watched it, observing from the outer edges of family circles; bickering, fighting, who is going to get Aunt Mary’s jewellery, her antiques, her fucking high-quality plastic cookware with lids? I hated that sort of carry-on by family carrion but I guess this is when it begins and even though I appear to be ‘out of it’, I am about to witness the worst of human behaviour.
I feel my mattress depress as someone sits beside me. So much for hospital rules- is there no respect for authority at all? Beep, beep, a soft intake of breath, beep.
“Mummy…,” Ah, here it comes. The vultures begin to feed! “Mummy,” whispers my beautiful daughter, Joanna, a grown woman, a great mother, “Mummy, I don’t want you to leave, we don’t want you to leave but we understand…” Of course, not Joanna, she would never lead a charge against me. Beep, beep, throat clearing, beep, a sniffle, beep.
“Nana, we love you,” my eldest granddaughter, Mandy, sobbing, sweet, always so sweet.
Voices echoing around my bed, softly, caring. Is this the cruellest attack of all? Nobody pouncing until the time is right, waiting for another to begin the unsavoury discussions. Beep, beep, beep. More voices, caresses, more mattress depressions. Love, so much love.
I feel a burning need to respond; my screaming brain futilely commanding silent lips to speak. Beep, beep, sob, sniffle, beep. I recognise all of them- Joanna, Mandy, George, Emma, Robbie and Geordie, my other sons. Those who have been closest to me, who loved me, whom I loved, surrounding my bed- beep, beep, sob, beep.
Hah! So it’s true, your soul does look down upon your body as you leave. The machine is beep, beep, beeping. The family has gloriously linked hands around my bed- I look so peaceful, almost serene, beep, beep, cough, beep.
The room is filling with a pink haze, an aura that surrounds everything and everyone in a loving embrace, even the ECG machine, beep, beep, beep. Can they see the clouds of love enveloping them all, linking their souls to mine with an intricate, intertwining silver cord? Beep, beep, beep.
I’m going now, beloveds. Let Emma have my quality plasticware but don’t let her write the eulogy, haha, beep, sniffle, beep, beep, beeeeeeeeeeeeep!