Blog Posts, Menopausal Mutterings

The art of being late for everything

Hello dear readers. I’m sorry I’ve neglected to write for a while. I’ve not even managed to join in with One-liner Wednesday or Stream of Consciousness Saturday. The well ran dry, My get-up-and-go ran away. Whilst the well isn’t dry anymore, it is full of sadness instead of my usual ironic view of life. My mojo has yet to make a reappearance, but it will do… eventually.

As most of you know, the Dean household is going through some sad times at the moment. My mother in now in her final days. Her wonderful medical team have been caring for her around the clock as she slowly transitions from this world.

So why the title? Who’s late for everything?

Mum!

As long as I can remember, my mother was late for everything except work. I could never understand how an exceptionally organised person in her work life could consistently be late for everything else. Take, for example, the simple need to be at a bus stop for, say, 10:30am. The walk from our house to the stop takes about 10 minutes if you quick march. My sister and I would be ordered to be ready to leave the house at 10:15. At 10:10 Mum would still need to get dressed, apply makeup and don her earrings and necklace (she never went anywhere without lippy and jewellery!). The trek to the bus stop would end up as a sprint (uphill too) with us arriving red-faced and sweaty, just as the bus appeared.

Fast-forward to today. It’s almost a week since Mum had any fluids and nutrition. She’s been in an out of consciousness since then… mostly out than in. The morphine driver is working around the clock. Every day the doctors and nurses tell us she can’t last much longer. And yet here we are. My sister and I used to joke that Mum would be late for her own funeral. Amongst the sadness that is us watching over her in the last few days, we managed a wry smile as we remarked that it looks like she’s going to be late for her own death! As an avid fan of Terry Pratchett, I can imagine Death leaning on his scythe, tapping his digits as Binky, his horse, tucks into a nose-bag while they wait for my mother to turn up!

Wishing you all health and safety in these weird times.

Cath xx

2 thoughts on “The art of being late for everything”

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