Moorhouse Inn
1st Sunday after Easter
Dad phoned as I was opening the doors at 12 to say Mum has had a fall. She didn't wake Dad at 4am when she climbed out of bed to go to the loo and she lost her grip and fell backwards banging her head with force on the floor. At 3 we went to Club Street. The place was like a kindergarten. JPH & Catherine were there. Having lanigans, as they say in Hunslet. Unbelievably, John and Dad were replacing a skirting board and were sawing a plank of wood on the carpet. Ally was displeased. Mum was upstairs and I questioned why no doctor had been called when she was clearly in some pain in her neck and shoulders. She is so thin now it is a miracle she didn't break bones. A pile of Catherine Cookson books lay on the bed. Spring flowers on the dressing table, and Mum flat out , withering before our very eyes. Ally and Sam left me with Mum alone. That quick mind has gone. That vitality has already died. It is so wrong that people have to suffer in such a way. How lucky are those people who drop like a stone with a massive heart attack? So see a loved one, aged only 50, wasting away, is pure Hell. She was always so good and thoughtful and a lover of family life and all that goes with it. All snatched from her by this evil disease. ______.
-=-
No comments:
Post a Comment