TIRED, ROMY WATCHED as the nurse’s car pulled into the driveway. Deirdre Jennings had been here for the past four nights in a row, bringing a bag of knitting and the latest John Grisham novel to get through the long hours minding her patient.
‘She’s very drowsy,’ Deirdre said.
‘I know. She slept most of the day. Aunt Vonnie called in for a while this morning but she kept nodding off.’
‘Well maybe she’ll be up for a chat later on then!’ smiled the middle-aged woman, going into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.
Romy kissed her mother good-night, looking forward to a long soak in the bath before falling into bed. She had a huge respect and deep gratitude for Deirdre and the rota of nurses who cared for her mother night and day, their kindness and professionalism ensuring that Maeve could remain at home.
When she came down to breakfast in her dressing gown in the morning Deirdre told her there was a slight change.
‘I changed her nightdress – she’s been a bit clammy and sweaty, running a temp. I think it’s her chest. She could have an infection. I’ve left a message with Dr Deegan to look in on her.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’
The nurse hesitated.
‘Just keep her comfortable. You don’t want her getting too hot or cold. I’ve given her something to try and bring it down. It’s hard to tell with these things. Listen, I’m going home for a sleep but I’m on again tonight and I’ll see you then.’
Her mother looked wretched and Romy was relieved when Myles Deegan finally appeared.
‘The nurse was right. She does have an infection and we need to treat it. There are two ways. I phone an ambulance and get her readmitted to the hospital where she’ll be put on a drip and oxygen and monitored carefully, or she stays where she is and I treat her with high-dose antibiotics here at home. If she needs oxygen I’ll get it set up here for her. What do you want to do?’ he asked gently.
Romy hesitated.
‘Will she get better?’
‘I can’t answer that. She’s beginning to fail, her body is under severe pressure. She may have had another slight stroke, who knows. Unless we do a battery of tests, I couldn’t say. Pneumonia in this type of situation is relatively common.’
Romy stood, watching her mother, unsure what to do, reluctant to be the decision-maker.
‘I know she doesn’t want to die in hospital,’ she said slowly. ‘She wants to be here at home.’
Maeve Dillon, aware of their conversation, had opened her eyes, coughing slightly, raised up on the layers of pillows around her shoulders.
‘Maeve,’ said the doctor gently. ‘I think you might have a chest infection. I can treat it here or otherwise you’ll have to go back into the hospital. What do you want?’
Her mother shook her head, her hand firmly patting the bed she was lying on.
‘Home, here?’
‘I’m taking that as an answer,’ murmured Myles Deegan, clasping her mother’s palm.
Myles Deegan co-ordinated it all, starting her mother on a course of high-dose antibiotics and giving her an injection straight away.
‘I’ll talk to Brigid before she comes over and get her to wait for the oxygen to be delivered. I’ll leave her this tray here in case she needs it and I’ll call back up before I go home this evening. Don’t worry, Maeve will have the best of care, I promise.’
‘I know that,’ Romy said.
Her mother fell into a deep, heavy sleep once the doctor had gone and Romy took the opportunity to phone Kate and Moya. Both of them agreed to come home immediately.
‘I’ll be on the first flight I can get,’ promised Moya, upset. ‘Just don’t let anything happen to her before I get there.’
Aunt Vonnie had been philosophical.
‘We all knew she wasn’t getting any better. God be good to her. I was talking to Eamonn two nights ago and he’s coming over.’
‘His flight gets in early tomorrow morning. Conor said he’d collect him and drive him down here.’
Romy was much relieved that her mother’s older brother would be home to see her.
Over the next two days Maeve Dillon slipped further and further from them. They took it in turns to sit with her, as bit by bit she relaxed her grip on life, her lungs heavy, fighting for breath. Moya and Patrick had arrived with Fiona, Gavin and Danny. The three children were curious to meet their Aunt Romy and hear about her travels.
The nurses were discreet as each of them got a chance to be with her, peaceful and quiet, to say what they wanted to say. Fiona, a tall leggy version of her mother, hunched up her skinny knees and legs as she sat beside her grandmother telling her about the play she was doing in school, unembarrassed as she sang the song she performed: ‘Scarborough Fair’. Patrick led in the two small boys, who pushed and shoved to get nearer their grandmother as they made their final farewells.
Molly had said little, only that this time she was going to read Granny a story before she fell asleep, half making up the words of ‘The Gingerbread Man’.
Father Eamonn had read from his bible, anointed her with precious oils and sat simply holding her hand while Aunt Vonnie gently sponged her face with a wet facecloth.
In those final hours, the three of them decided to sit with their mother for the night. It was what she would have wanted.
‘I know you’re happy we’re all here together,’ said Kate slowly. Their mother appeared drowsy, drifting in and out of sleep, sometimes eyes open watching, other times eyes closed listening. ‘Back home.’
‘Like when we were children.’
‘You’re such a good mother,’ smiled Moya, reaching for her hand, ‘loving us all.’
‘Putting up with us! We’re all so different.’
‘Moya, the beauty! No matter what you put on you looked gorgeous and you got all the clothes and the shoes and the guys fancying you. While I was the sensible one, the clever one that got honours in her exams and nobody fancied.’
‘And I was the wild one,’ sighed Romy. ‘Maybe that’s what made me crazy, who knows.’
‘Romy, you don’t know how many times I envied you, wished that I was brave enough or bold enough to take up a backpack and go off round the world, do something daring and different,’ said Kate.
‘And I wanted to be clever and bright like you, Kate,’ confessed Moya. ‘I always felt I wasn’t intelligent or interesting enough. That people only liked me for my style, my figure, my clothes.’
‘Moya you are one of the nicest people I know,’ admitted Kate. ‘That’s why Patrick fell in love with you all those years ago. You must know that!’
‘And all I ever wanted was to be like the two of you,’ said Romy, ruefully. ‘I looked like a stringy boy for most of my childhood and was a disaster at school and college! I guess being bold was my way of getting attention.’
‘You were such a tomboy when you were small, Romy. Daddy adored you.’
‘Till Sean was born,’ she said. ‘That changed everything.’
‘He still loved you. But the consequences, one thing affects another,’ said Kate.
‘I blamed myself for not looking after him properly,’ whispered Moya. ‘It made me nervous when Danny was born.’
Silently they all considered the consequences of their childhood.
‘The thing is that despite all the differences, we’re here,’ insisted Kate, knowing that she had never felt closer to her sisters.
‘To think I wasn’t going to come home,’ sobbed Romy.
‘But you did. You’ve cared for Mammy. You’re the one has been here every day with her. Romy, never forget that!’
Maeve Dillon’s breathing had got heavier; her lungs sounded as if they were bags of water as she struggled to get air.
‘Mammy, don’t be scared! We’re all here with you.’
‘Talking away. We’re not going to leave you.’
They sat around, leaning across the bed, watching her, pulling the quilt over them as their mother’s eyes closed and she slept, conscious a while later of the change in her breathing as almost with a single heaving sigh her life finally ended.
‘It’s over,’ Kate said, relieved that her mother was at peace and that the three of them had been together to witness her passing.
‘She’s gone,’ said Moya softly as Romy got off the bed and walked across to the french windows. It was early morning, the sun barely up as she flung the doors open wide to the garden.