It’s been three years since Mum died.
I received a phone call from the hospital at around 1:15pm during our office Christmas lunch. I stepped outside to take the call and was told by the attending Doctor that Mum had died of a cardiac arrest and that the hospital staff had honoured her request of not attempting resuscitation. She had been hospitalised leading up to a medical procedure but her slight frame was not up for it.
I had visited her a few days earlier just after she was admitted to hospital and she seemed bright enough but somewhat world-worn.
Her death came a little after two years since my Dad, her husband of 62 years, had died. I have written on both the third and fifth anniversaries of his death and so am doing likewise for Mum. In some senses when Dad died it seemed that Mum was just hanging on for a time but really wanted to be elsewhere.
The sensation of losing a second parent is somewhat different to losing the first one. In my Dad’s case his death had been expected for several weeks whereas Mum’s was unexpected. Losing the first parent is a shock, but you still have one parent left; but with the loss of the second that generation has gone. Dad was an only child, and Mum was the youngest of four and her siblings had preceded her in death by six years by her next-younger sibling; twenty years by her oldest sister; and around 35 years in the case of her only brother.
I miss them both in different ways. There are things I’d like to tell them. World events to discuss. Appropriate grandchild and great grandchild news and antics (respectively) to pass on.