21 December 2020

This is the actual longest night. Winter Solstice. I am awake in it. Wiccans may recognise the words. I woke at 04:30 in the early hours of 22 Dec. Dawn is several hours away.

K came down today from Derbyshire with her husband. She brought supplies. Pads for the bed, flannels and baby wipes. S came back with her family to play carols. They were all out there in rain coats and you roused yourself. Even gave a cheery wave. That was the best of you today, on this earthly plane at least. I’m sure you’re being magnificent wherever you’re drifting through. I sat with you and held your hand. And cried. I didn’t mean to but the collective energy was so strong just beyond the glass. If it weren’t for this virus, we would be together. All of us.

You’ve slept and slept. You took a few sips of water. When the nice nurse from the palliative care hub called, I asked when the district nurse would come. She said I should call back if I hadn’t heard by the afternoon. She talked for a while and said I could call any time with any questions. Information and advice varies with the person delivering it. When I do call back and I speak to someone else she is surprised that I’m concerned a nurse hasn’t even called to arrange to see you. I mention you haven’t eaten anything and hardly taken fluids.

“You do know he’s end of life,” she says.

“I do.” My voice resonates. A drum in the silence of your hallway.

She tells me she’ll pass on the message but can’t promise anything and that I can call at any time. The words tumble from her lips. I think of a food server pushing a burger across a melamine counter. “Have a nice day.”

On the phone with D she’s worried I’m deluding myself. I get it. I’m sensitive and I don’t give up. When I love someone, someone worth loving I hold on even through the end of life. When is a person supposed to let go? Why would I let go when you’re still here? I worry about all of this in the long solstice darkness before dawn.

The sun will rise. When Mum died it was odd to see strangers carrying on as normal. Waves kept turning. We’re all drops of water in a vast ocean and so important within our spheres. The framily we create and collect. The reason for being, for doing, and creating.

At sunrise, I discovered the boiler is broken. I’m being cattle-prodded towards acceptance.