Nanny, again.
Moonface's mother died late last night.
She'd been hospitalized for over two months, since she broke her hip; but had cancer spreading throughout her body as well, weakening her badly. It wasn't a good death, but we suppose that she had a decent life, with the opportunity to enjoy the world. Life on a west country farm wasn't the most cosmopolitan location, but it was pretty good for her.
I have three overriding memories of Midge.
Most recently, last weekend, was of her lying inert in her nursing home bed, hardly aware of the world. She was emaciated, yellowed, weak, saddened. Her arthritic hands were bent so that she had difficulty holding the beakers containing her drinks. These, almost identical to toddlers' mugs, had plastic spouts to help guide the semi-competent users to their own mouths. Poor Midge could hardly lift the beaker to her mouth; I had to help her drink, and in her semi-conscious state, she mistook the beaker spout for an errant spoon and complained about it. Poor woman.
Six years ago, after Moonface's father's funeral, we scattered his ashes under and around a sapling freshly planted at the farm. Midge was alert, cheerful, and scampered around more than I had seen her for years - perhaps freed of the responsibilities of looking after her man. There was a strong breeze that day, so as we poured Frank's ashes into the holes prepared for the young trees, the wind caught his remains and blew them into our faces and irritated our eyes. Midge laughed as she rubbed her face and turned away from the dusty powder.
And longer ago, more than thirty years, I remember her reaction when we told her that Moonface and I wanted to marry. She looked shocked, stood straight up, uttered a single sound "Oh!" , and sat down, poker-backed, in silence.
She'd been hospitalized for over two months, since she broke her hip; but had cancer spreading throughout her body as well, weakening her badly. It wasn't a good death, but we suppose that she had a decent life, with the opportunity to enjoy the world. Life on a west country farm wasn't the most cosmopolitan location, but it was pretty good for her.
I have three overriding memories of Midge.
Most recently, last weekend, was of her lying inert in her nursing home bed, hardly aware of the world. She was emaciated, yellowed, weak, saddened. Her arthritic hands were bent so that she had difficulty holding the beakers containing her drinks. These, almost identical to toddlers' mugs, had plastic spouts to help guide the semi-competent users to their own mouths. Poor Midge could hardly lift the beaker to her mouth; I had to help her drink, and in her semi-conscious state, she mistook the beaker spout for an errant spoon and complained about it. Poor woman.
Six years ago, after Moonface's father's funeral, we scattered his ashes under and around a sapling freshly planted at the farm. Midge was alert, cheerful, and scampered around more than I had seen her for years - perhaps freed of the responsibilities of looking after her man. There was a strong breeze that day, so as we poured Frank's ashes into the holes prepared for the young trees, the wind caught his remains and blew them into our faces and irritated our eyes. Midge laughed as she rubbed her face and turned away from the dusty powder.
And longer ago, more than thirty years, I remember her reaction when we told her that Moonface and I wanted to marry. She looked shocked, stood straight up, uttered a single sound "Oh!" , and sat down, poker-backed, in silence.
****************
I feel guilty about not being with Moonface. She's gone to the farm, to help sort things out.
It's difficult, as I want to be with her, but I think (and hope) she'll bear up better without me. And, she's got her brother with her. If I went to the farm as well, we'd have left Tom on his own which I think would leave him vulnerable and potentially miserable, too. This is a big house to be lonely in.
:-(
It's difficult, as I want to be with her, but I think (and hope) she'll bear up better without me. And, she's got her brother with her. If I went to the farm as well, we'd have left Tom on his own which I think would leave him vulnerable and potentially miserable, too. This is a big house to be lonely in.
:-(
posted by Moses at
10:30 pm
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