THE LAST CHAPTER

My beloved Leaf passed over at 05.20 on the 18th December.

The time since has been a blur of confusion from which I am doing my best to achieve some sort of equilibrium.

DEPARTURE

For all those who knew and loved him and those who have faithfully followed the story of his dementia through DOODAH, I will endeavour to explain coherently how it happened.

I had a phone call from the Masseube home in the morning of the 14th to say he had been taken into hospital with a lung infection and was on oxygen. They’d given him antibiotics and he was back in his room. I was told they didn’t expect him to pull through. I stayed with him that night watching the intermittent rising of his chest, wondering with each uneven breath if it might be his last – waiting between each one to see if another would come. The oxygen mask covered his open mouth and the machine produced an annoying hum with occasional strange bursts of noise, a sort of hiccup. His eyes were open but unfocussed and unblinking. Throughout the night the staff came by every two hours to turn his immobile body, sponge him down and massage his limbs. I left after breakfast exhausted from virtually no sleep.

I went back in the afternoon, no change. I stayed a while hoping for I don’t really know what. Sudden signs of life perhaps, but there were none except for the forced breathing. The male nurse on day duty told me to go home and get some sleep, they would call me in the morning. I was so tired and dejected, I slept well. The next day, he was still alive, but only just.

When I went in the afternoon, I guessed he must be in a sort of coma, eyes still wide and unblinking, mouth open with the oxygen mask still pumping away – so weird and dreadfully unsettling to behold. I sat by his bed and talked. I talked and talked but don’t really remember what I said except it was a lot about love. I do remember telling him it was alright to go, as if he needed permission. In the early evening, I left knowing that he would probably not last the night but at least I’d had the chance to say my goodbyes, even if they didn’t register. I hoped they would’ve. It is said the last sense to go is the sense of hearing but, even so, would his brain have registered? Would a tiny part of his consciousness, in some hidden corner deep inside, have heard and understood me? I prayed so.

He was still and cold when I saw him the next day. His mortal life was over. His spirit had departed.

From then on, there were people to contact and arrangements to be made. The cremation was organised by the gentle and sympathetic lady from the flower shop round the corner with the minimum of formality and the maximum of sensitivity. No sign of a sombre-looking character in a black suit. It was as if this dying thing was part of everyday living; not death as we are taught to think of it, but a simple crossing to the next dimension. A merciful release from the constraints of a failing body.

The cremation was arranged for Saturday, 23rd and a lady called Melissa would be in charge.

THE CEREMONY

We, that is Jessie, Leaf’s step-daughter and her boyfriend, Charles, and I arrived at the crematorium by midday on the 23rd and were touched to see how many people had turned up: family from the UK as well as local friends and others from up-country where we used to live.

The Auch crematorium is a modern building in a woodland setting. It’s light, airy and peaceful. There were no other people there which was a relief. Once everyone was seated, Melissa read the short summary of Leaf’s life that I had given her – the very basics – in English. She had volunteered to do that saying it would be good practice. Roger, Leaf’s brother spoke first, followed by me, talking of our years together, then Jessie reading three particularly beautiful messages from friends. Catherine, a beloved French friend from up-country added her special message. All the while Baka Beyond, the group whose music we’d used to accompany my little film of Leaf and his friend Lewe’s Malawian project (setting up a hostel for Aids orphans) played in the background. It was followed by Pharoah Sanders ‘Jewels of Love’, Leaf’s favourite track from the Save the Children album. A haunting piece that he used to listen to often. It always brought tears to his eyes and mine too. I knew he would’ve approved of this choice.

Finally I read the last two verses of Kahlil Gibran’s writing about death.

Throughout the ceremony slides of beautiful scenes from nature were projected onto the sliding doors. So much more tranquil and warming than plain paintwork

The ceremony was over but not quite. Melissa invited us to place notes on the coffin – pieces of paper with hearts on were provided. And/or, we could write on the coffin itself. Everyone did. It was very moving and, I thought, a wonderful and natural touch. Our thoughts were to go with Leaf’s body into the furnace. The doors then slid across and the coffin hidden from sight. Silently we filed out.

The very evening, the lady from the flower shop came round to the house with the urn containing Leaf’s ashes – white porcelain with a slim gold trim. It sits by my lilies with a ring of chakra stones sent by his sister Judy, and a gold candle. The leaves of the lilies are beginning to fall. I shall replace them with other white flowers for the time being.

FEELINGS

Since then, I’ve been on an emotional roller-coaster and the days have sped by, as they do. Jessie and Charles stayed over Christmas which was a huge comfort.

A week ago, Leaf sent me a peacock butterfly.  It was on the curtain in the bathroom – how it got there, I cannot say but I can guess.  I carried it carefully outside into the sunshine where it stayed on my hand opening and closing its wings before I gently eased it off onto the garden table.  Leaf is still around. And I’m sure he will be with me always and everywhere albeit invisibly. I allowed myself to draw some comfort from this beautiful event.

Both sisters, Judy and Susi, saw rainbows on the day of his cremation!  Separately. Those who believe there is life after death, will appreciate how affected they were.

Leaf’s final departure after the oh-so gradual disintegration of his brain and latterly his body, was a release from suffering for both of us as well as a relief to me. Although I have no idea how much he might have been aware of once his memory and cognitive function had apparently packed up. No-one knows just what the later stages of Alzheimer’s feels like for the sufferer; when they can no longer express themselves beyond the occasional word or mumbled phrase and maybe a few rare moments of apparent clarity. With it comes to the decline in motor function as the body stops working, swallowing becomes a problem, hands shaky, eye contact difficult and there’s virtually no bodily movement.

REFLECTION

I would describe my feelings now as confused, swinging as they do between relief, utter desolation and what might be called excitement.

I lost my husband some years ago; the Leaf I fell in love with, had sixteen or so happy years with, gradually left me. It was a sentence which would, one indeterminate day, reach a full-stop but there was no knowing when that might be. The destructive entity that is AD took him over effectively turning him into an impossible stranger. Over the first three of the final years, he became more and more difficult to live with. I had forgotten just how difficult which, in a way, was merciful. When I looked back at the DOODAH posts I wrote towards the end of that period, I was amazed that I got through. Actually, I didn’t make it. I cracked up in the October of 2020 and Leaf went into the dementia ward at Lannemezan hospital where he was well cared for and soon appeared to integrate.

When I went to see him, I was struck by how many of the female ‘inmates’ didn’t seem to have visitors. Had they been abandoned? I do hope not, but by the way they clung affectionately to each other and were so happy when I stopped to say hello and have a few words, I suspect maybe not. Notably, the men – seemingly a permanently miserable lot – did have visiting wives or female relatives. Revealing, I thought. I was a visitor who appeared regularly to deal out encouragement and love to my man. Had it been appropriate and I been able, I would’ve done the same for some of those lonesome ladies.

After Leaf’s accident when he broke his leg and couldn’t respond to physio, he was moved to the home in Masseube. Once more, wonderful professional carers took over. Was he really aware? I don’t know, but he seemed to recognise me almost to the end and there were times, even in the latter stages when his eyes focussed and it was clear he was still ‘in there’, though how conscious he might have been we will never know.

Even though our marriage as a working relationship was over six years ago, my love for him and, I have to believe, his for me in some deeper place, was still alive. I clung to hopes that he would remain so long enough for the quantum healing treatments to become available. But it was not to be.

No matter that his death represents a release for us both, the fact that Leaf’s physical manifestation, albeit damaged and dysfunctional, is irrevocably no longer of this earth is incomprehensible as well as deeply painful. How can he no longer be?  He was an anchor, a raison d’être at least for the last six years and that has now gone. I will have to learn to live without that part of him which was part of me too.

Throughout our time together, before AD gate-crashed our lives, we were certainly not joined at the hip, but two people who complemented each other perfectly. The beautiful man I married in 2015 has moved on and now all the good times we had together are firmly in the past. For the moment I cannot bear to think about them, but one day I hope I will be able to look back with joy and gratitude.

And what about now? When I’m not swamped by great waves of sorrow, I’m almost upbeat. I have my life back, a massive burden has been lifted from me and I’m now free to go forward exactly as I wish with only my own welfare and that of my beloved dogs, Monty and Mizzy, to consider. Once I’ve stabilised emotionally and the formalities are out of the way, I can make plans for the future.

One of those plans will be to organise a celebration of Leaf’s life this coming summer, assuming I will feel up to it. During his time on this earth, he certainly had many adventures and made his mark on many lives. A wonderful man whose life was cut too short – we must presume he had done what he came to do and it was his time to move on.

How many of us are as lucky as I have been to experience, even if only for a short time, the nearest a human can get to perfect earthy love? Life with a partner with whom we are in absolute harmony, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. For this I will be eternally grateful, I have been truly blessed.

R.I.P. dearest Leaf, the best of husbands and greatest of friends.

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So, here we are at the start of 2024 which promises to be quite a revealing year when, we are led to believe, much will change and, with luck, those changes will be good. Whatever, we have decisions and challenges ahead.

Before I wrap up DOODAH and consign her to my writing archives, I want to thank everyone who has followed Leaf and I over the last four years, sometimes commenting, sometimes sending private emails of encouragement or just plain reading. I hope what I have written has been helpful to those whose lives are or have been touched by the dreaded AD – a veritable demon of a disease that robs those who are afflicted of so much. Memory, cognitive ability, dignity and finally, bodily functions are lost. It is the cruellest of conditions.

I have occasionally digressed, after all our world has been going through the greatest transformation of all time and that fact could not and cannot be ignored. If what I have had to say has offended some, I apologise but am not sorry. My intentions have always been to pass on useful information.

GOOD LUCK for 2024, a year during which I understand much will come to light and many of us have been waiting for – not always patiently! May it be also be a year when good health is restored to all who suffer, the money troubles of those who are struggling relieved and, mostly importantly, peace and love comes to our world and the joys of living bless all mankind.

ALOHA

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Since posting this last DOODAH, I have received many personal emails for which I am very grateful and moved. I’m in the process of replying to them. So, if you wish to contact me privately, please bear with me, I may take a bit of time responding to you.

Comments I reply to immediately. They are from those who wish their sentiments to be appended to my post and I’m always happy to include the thoughts and sentiments of others and, of course, to receive feedback.