Vale Mum.

Three days ago, Mum died very unexpectedly. This photo was taken 2 weeks ago on her 86th birthday.

Her health had been failing since she fell last December and broke her humerus. Gradually, over the course of this year, she lost the ability to walk, to use her hands and to stand by herself. Her voice had, little by little, almost vanished, with a delay of around 10 seconds if she wanted to say something in reply to a question. Her days were spent being hoisted from her bed by a machine, then sitting in a wheeled chair until it was time to go to bed and being hoisted back. Her feet never touched the floor.

In the last few months, she couldn’t hold a glass, a fork, or a toothbrush, so she was totally dependent on the carers at her nursing home.

But her mind was sharp.

Can you imagine how awful it must have been for her? It was bad enough to watch…

Mum had dogs all her life, and Scout was her last one. Scout adopted her when Mum stayed with us for a month after Dad fell last January in 2025 and was in hospital. They spent hours together on the couch, and Mum grew very fond of her.

The nursing home allows well-behaved dogs to visit, so Scout and Hazel came with me nearly every time I went to see Mum. They knew, “Do you want to see GRAN?” and they’d run straight for the car.

She was a woman with an independent streak. She left school in year 10, but the year after I got my HSC, she went to night school and got hers. She was always going to dance classes, art classes and drinks with the girls. She was a terrific mother.

Before Dad fell and my parents’ world turned upside down, Mum was an indefatigable walker. All her life she walked, and even when vertigo took hold in her later years, she’d still get Dad to take her walker out, and she’d walk for ages every day.

Dad hung onto life because he was scared to leave Mum alone. They met when she was 15 and he was 17. I promised that she’d never be left there by herself. I visited every day, unless I knew that someone else was going in to see her, and then I counted that as a day off. Kate lives further away, so she’d go and see Mum twice a week, but her visits were longer than mine. She’d stay and feed Mum lunch, and talk to the GP on his weekly visits.

I had medical POA, so I was the first call whenever anything went wrong. When I was travelling, Kate took over.

Kate and I turned out to be a very good team. I am the admin person, dealing with all of the paperwork and numbers (yuck) involved with taking care of someone’s estate. Kate looked after the other things, like buying Mum clothes and makeup, going with her to appointments and things like that.

It’s amazing how one little old lady can take so much time to look after. I don’t know how single carers do it.

Her death, when it came, was swift and merciful. It was all over within an hour, as she slipped in and out of consciousness. She wasn’t in pain, and both Kate and I were at her side. My brother was on his way.

Once we were left alone in the room with her, Kate said some lovely things to her. (I’d already done my job as medical POA by telling the ambos not to take heroic measures to try and save her. She was very clear that nature should take its course.) I then said to her, “Mum, it’s ok to go. We’ll all be fine, and I’ll look after everyone. It’s ok to leave.”

Kate said, “Mumma, don’t be afraid. Frogdancer’s right – we’ll be ok. It’s time to go.”

Mum gave two more breaths, and then she died. Just like that. So peacefully.

It was a beautiful death.