Written 28 November 2018
To be perfectly honest, I find death a little boring.
It's not that I don't sympathise with the friends and loved ones solemnly crowded round the death beds, but working here you just see so much of it the drama and heft just sort of doesn't affect you.
There was one couple that was different.
I had to reprimand the husband several times for sneaking contraband into the facility. It was usually stuff that was banned for the sake of it, as opposed to things that would actually harm his wife or other patients, like a hip flask full of fancy Scottish whiskey, or a terrarium designed to look like a little crooked house on a hill. A bacon sandwich, that sort of thing. But rules are rules.
The problem is, every time I tried to stop him, he charmed me into allowing him to do it. “This was the whiskey we drank on our wedding night, and I just want to take her back there.” Lines like that.. He was what my Nan would have described as roguish.
And his wife was just a delight. Long, sparse grey hair, milky white eyes but with a smile that could light up any room. I'll be honest, I wish we had more people like her come through. She treated it as a holiday camp, like this was her last great adventure.
The two of them would just sit for hours, laughing and joking, talking nonsense. The way they looked at each other, it was really something.
One time I walked in to give her some medication, and I found a tiny golden Labrador puppy licking her face enthusiastically as she laughed. The husband looked like a schoolboy caught stealing sweets. It was such a hilarious scene I didn't know how to react.
“When I walk back in in 10 minutes, that thing better be gone.” He nodded enthusiastically. When I walked back in, the puppy was nowhere to be seen. I heard something scratching about under the bed, but decided not to investigate.
Her condition deteriorated, and the laughter began to subside.
On the day she died, I was stationed near her room. The two of them just sang. Mostly silly versions of Sinatra, or a call and return song I couldn't make out. She would croak, looking lovingly at him, smiling so warmly it was almost indecent. He held her hands, smiling back, tears in his eyes.
The last song they sang was about a dog, one that they must have owned together, one that had probably passed, called Double. They both broke down whilst singing it, and he held her hand and head, weeping uncontrollably. And I was overcome with such a palpable sense of loneliness and sadness it took everything I had to stay standing.
It wasn't how long they had been together it was how happy they had been, I think. With a lot of people that come here, you can tell that the partner or family feel a slight sense of relief. And you can't blame them. People come here after a long life, or a long illness, or both, and that takes its toll.
As she passed and he lay over her, wailing uncontrollably, you just knew that was the end of his life too. And it broke my heart thinking of him going on without her.