The Last Day - April 1994

A. Ann Winning

1994

The last words my mother ever spoke were a lie and the last thing to which she responded was not my voice or my touch, but the sound of her dog barking. Nevertheless I remember the day with sadness, but no bitterness.

When I first woke at 6am, I knew she was dying. Her breathing, which I monitored on a baby alarm, had changed, which is probably what had wakened me. It sounded as if something had broken; something which was unlikely to be fixed. However, it also sounded pain free, and very much asleep. 6am - Do you ring for an ambulance to take a 95 year old woman who is probably dying on a seventy mile journey to the nearest hospital? It seemed a bad idea, and I decided against it, going back into a listening sleep for another hour. ... (continues)