Three poems on the death of a friend

Visit 1

Your hand is warm, grip strong

Not paper thin and weak

Like a heavy coat on a summer’s day, everything feels wrong;

Aways full of sass, of life, you do not fit what I know of dying

Perhaps you will not

Perhaps there is a solution

to this matter of you dying

I think

Normally full of chat

now soundless

you smile toothlessly

unable to wear your dentures

My voice fills gaps in conversation where yours should be:

cars eight stories down, cloud smudged blue skies, planes

Life in the world outside your grimy hospital window;

a jumbled word picture you ignore

It is a glorious autumn day

Holding your hand, I remember 19 summers

And I know

I will never sit in the sun with you again

Smiling, you let go my hand

point at my chest, a thumbs up

I force a smile, hands smoothing my shirt

Chosen because red is your favourite colour

The others, awkward around the bed talk of “when you get home”, their voices brittle bright

But I pause, remembering days before

when you said, again “oh, this getting old. It’s no fun. I wish I could die, I want to die, please let me go”

and you refused your biscuit and tea

The doctors say there’s nothing wrong with you

Just a tired soul who has had enough and wants to die, they say

You are so loved, I think

Why isn’t that enough for you to want to stay?

That you would die in your sleep in your favourite chair

was the death I hoped for you

Not this “I do not want to eat”

Not this wanting to die business

I adjust the scratchy gown where it slips, tucking blankets under your chin

Gone is the ‘good’ nightie you saved for the hospital tips you rarely needed

You smell of pee, not Chanel

your neck naked without pearls

“I can barely see you”, wonder in your voice

Jarred, I slide in the chair

feeling for an instant as if I am the one

fading from this life

The blue of your eyes is paling

as they move over my skin

as if memorising my face

I am doing the same to you

I read love in your eyes, surprise to me

You were never one for loving glances

Love through action, is your style

But, unable to do this time, you show me with your eyes

I stroke your fingers

So very slowly, trembling

you bend your head

and kiss my hand

Your hands shake

held up at a strange angle, like a doctor preparing for surgery

A position I do not understand, and then I do

and put my arms around you

There is no peace in your room today

Agitated, your mind tears like tissue paper

Frustrated, as we move you on the bed you cry “up, down”

unable to make us understand what you need

Once easy going you are so impatient

“Quick, quick,” you cry, your speech mangled

and we rush to give you water

which you refuse because you do not want to vomit and make a mess

I wonder if it is death you are begging with your “quick, quick”

not us

I whisper it too, “quick Lord, have mercy. Don’t let her linger”

We are both impatient

A good person

should

have a ‘good’ death

Shouldn’t she? Not this. Not this hard death

I thought I would have too many words for you at the end

But I have few, whispered into your ear between moans

And it is enough

“I love ya. Thank you for being in my life”

Exhausted, you can not speak

But, still here

you grab my arms

and we hold tight

I pause in the doorway, silenced

Now morphine calm, I wish you could see your face

So very beautiful

wrinkles smoothed out, skin glowing

One eye firmly closed, the other barely open, unfocused

The blue of it bleached almost white

A baby blue as though you are aging backwards

Yet, I sense you still here

One slight nod

Lips which try to move

when we kiss you

We can not wake you more than this

I stroke your cheek; no hand holding now

both tucked firmly under blankets

Your skin cooling

even as you still breathe

Hard breaths, shallow

I watch, waiting for each

and know you are on the road

already passing us

Too slow for you, too fast for us

Your impatience showing in the twitch of your eyelid

the tremble of your lips

Not at peace yet, though I will it for you

“She would have hated her hair,” someone murmurs

Then hushes as we remember that perhaps you can still hear

Too long, unwashed, swept back in a way you never would, I imagine you standing on a beach, gentle breeze in your hair

“She was going to get it cut,” whispers one, but …

You really are not coming home to us, I realise

Ready, you are going home

Eager

Your face glowing

We stand around the bed

as you drift

around God’s waiting room

You never liked to wait

There are few visitors now

All have said goodbye

Yet still I come

and come

Just to kiss your forehead, hold your hand

stroke a finger down your cheek

Something we never did after Covid

Something we have missed

As long as you are still here, so will I come

my friend, I whisper

“Oh, this dying,” I can almost hear you say, “it’s no fun

but thank you for the visit today. Thank you, mam”

Oh, Hi!

I didn’t hear you come in

How’s you?

[crossword book slapped down, a loving grin]

Oh Wowwee! You found me some Gingernuts, snowballs and Bisto!

I can’t wait to tell my son when he rings up

I’m so happy! Thank you so much!

[spectacular smile and thumbs up]

I like your earrings

[leaning in, long stare]

They’re nice. Lovely

[two fingers drawing a beautiful woman in the air]

[frown] but why is your hair like that?

Oh me! Go get a haircut. Your hair is a mess

and [swat on the bum] where are your track pants?

That wind today would freeze Loch ness

Take that jacket off

It’s old and I don’t like the colour

Look in the bag in my bedroom

Yesterday, at Kmart, I bought you another

Quick, sit and I’ll tell you a story

You’ll never guess who visited me and my son

But first, throw those chocolate wrappers in the bin

[finger to lips] Don’t tell anyone!

Can you fix this [wave of the TV remote]?

I pressed something and lost Judge Judy

You’re so very clever

I know you can fix it for me

There on that chair is your birthday

Three presents, not one, because I’m just funny like that

What do you want for your Christmas?

It’s months away, but it’ll soon be here, so I’ll have to get started on that

We’ll decorate our tree, then go see the Christmas windows at Myer

Would you like to go to the theatre too? My treat

and next Thursday let’s go to town

looky what’s in the shops and have a bite to eat

See that jacket in the Damart catalogue?

I’m thinking of getting that

Or maybe I should get the blue one?

What do you think? Would it make me look fat?

Put the kettle on and let’s sit in the sun in the garden

We’ll count airplanes, smell the flowers and I’ll tell you my news

and on the ipad is my new great grand daughter

You know the password. Can’t wait to show the photos to you

See the new black mug beside the kettle?

That one’s just for you

You need a special mug for when you’re here

So, I found it in the cupboard and thought that’ll do for you!

Mmm. Your lemon cuppycakes are yummy

and you make the best cup of tea

I love seeing you each week

You are so good to me

I shouldn’t really, but cut me another little piece of that please

Hoy! [whistle] That knife is sharp!

Don’t cut yourself! Be careful!

You be careful with that, mam, it’s sharp!

Let me tell you about when I was a wee one

My dad, I was just four when he died

I had a little dog called Flossie and a doll called Sweet Nell

and I ruined my white coat the night I got it (mum was so mad she cried)

Look a butterfly!

That black one is my husband, I think he lives on

Do you believe in God? Where do we go when we die?

What do you think? I really want your opinion

Have you had your flu jag yet?

Go to the doctor about that spot on your skin

[narrowed eyes] have you lost weight? What will I do with you?

You’re a worry. Have a biscuit. You look far too thin

The garden ga-nomeys need re-painting

We’ll do that together one day

We’ll put some Andre Rieu on the thingummy

and Tee, He, He [giving the neighbours the finger] turn it up loud on replay

Oh, I almost forgot - there’s a rissole in the fridge

I cooked one extra just for you

and in the freezer there’s some chicken casserole

and take a piece of cheese bread or two

Aye. You’re welcome

I’ve got to look after you

Can’t have you fading away can I?

Next week let’s cook together – scones and lamb stew?

Thank you for getting my blanket

Thank you for getting the washing in too

and picking the icky bones out of the tinned salmon

What would I do without you?

Four o’clock already? Thank you for coming

When will you be back?

I miss you when you’re not here

Hit the road Jack, for today, but be quick to come back!

Wait, what’s that on your feet? Put proper shoes on

Don’t give me cheek! Do what you’re told

I’m just a silly old woman really, but you listen to me!

What!!! Pff! No, brat, you’re not too old!

Bye!!! See you soon. And remember, don’t ring the doorbell

You’ve got a key, just let yourself in

You’ll always, always be welcome

just like my grandchildren

Thank you, M.,

for that day when you walked up behind me [a stranger]

and linking your arm in mine

said “so, you’re my lovely new neighbour, please come for a cuppa”

and for near 20 years, ‘til you died, I came all the time

Now I will forever hear your “Aye” or “Nup” when there’s a choice to make

I’ll remember you in your pearls and monochrome pantsuits, your spirit larger than life

I will see you in aeroplanes, cloudless skies, cyclamens and butterflies

and cringe at your remembered “grr” [clenched fists] when I get into strife

I will smell you in chicken mornay [which only we made]

and at petrol stations [you loved diesel fumes]

And, of course I will remember you

when I get a whiff of Chanel number 5 perfume

I will never hear music without seeing

your finger

waving like a conductor’s baton

your blue eyes closed, a smile that lingers

I’ll wear your knitted bedsocks each winter

[you made me enough to last years]

and each summer I’ll eat chunks of tomato

remember the juice dripping off your chin like tears

When the phone rings I’ll always expect your

'Hi. It’s Just Me”

and feel again the warmth in my chest at the sound of your

“Hows you be?”

Thank you for being in my life and the kiss on my hand as you lay dying

I hope wherever you are, you’re happy and whizzing ‘round wheelchair free

I will miss you ever so much, my friend, for all time

Lots of love from Mam/Lady/the other “Just Me”

Mar sin leibh agus tapadh leibh*, M.

1/9/1927 – 22/4/2024

*Scottish Gaelic: goodbye and thank you