GOOD NIGHT, DOLORES
Sleeping in the recliner.
Wake up with various pains on my back from trying to contort into a comfortable position.
Silence, I reach my hand up and hold my mother’s hand. It’s warm. I squeeze and feel the waxiness of her skin between my fingers, and her life is just warmth and shallow breaths now.
The sun sets on Madrid. Photographs via Flicker.
I’m sitting on her lap, we are visiting relatives and it’s the end of the night, dinner, conversation, the grown ups are still deep in conversation but children are falling asleep, my head is resting on her chest, her arms around me.
She is talking, but I only hear her voice through her chest, her voice and her heartbeat at the same time and the muffled sound makes my eyelids heavy. The memory makes my eyelids droop now as my bones try to lock into a comfortable position in the recliner.
“Good night, Dolores.” I let go of her hand and fall back into sleep, my ear pressed on the sweaty vinyl.
August sun is flooding the room and mum is still breathing.
It’s a body, a body that carried her for 72 years and now is hanging on because it is programmed to live. What is a person unless it can be manifested? Where are the signs of her? To her, thinness was illness. She didn’t see herself as healthy unless she had reached a social level of obesity. She grew up in the time when only rich people were fat. Anorexia was incomprehensible to her.
Now she was thin, very thin and beyond ill. And she was gone, but her body didn’t know how to switch off. It automatically took in the next breath, then the next, then the gasp.
I told her it was fine to go, to stop and let go, leave to that place that dead people go to, or nowhere, or just stop.
I thanked her for my life, for being my mother, for holding me, for crying with pride for me. And I told her to go, as if for once she could do something for herself.
Go, rest, enough is enough.
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11 Responses to this article
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Sarah Watts July 10, 2012
Beautiful story
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Lou Pardi July 10, 2012
Thanks so much for sharing Simon. Such a common experience – I’m sure your words will resonate with and comfort many. Love your work – in all forms! xox
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anna July 10, 2012
Sorry for your loss Simon, reminds me of my father only just 12 months ago…
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Mike hamilton July 10, 2012
Simon, you bastard, you brought me to tears. You took us there , the sticky vinyl, I can feel the heat. And the sorrow and emotion when you said “thank you” , the same words I cried to my Mum. Good writing.
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Jo Johnstone July 10, 2012
I guess it’s a sign that us humans are still ‘connected’ in this sometimes unfriendly and disconnected world today. How else can I understand the tears I have while I was reading your loving and personal story of your mum’s leaving of this world?
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Tina Paradiso July 10, 2012
so heartfelt.. so real.. beautiful
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dramaqueen75 July 11, 2012
My family had hoped to be with mum when she died, but everything happened so much faster than anyone had thought it would. The day mum died my sister saw her in the morning and then dad and I spent most of the day with her in the hospital. She was so very sick and so terribly frightened. It was overwhelming.
I was able to stand by her bed and distract her with stories while washing down her face, which she found comforting. I didn’t want to leave her that night as she was very anxious but dad and I went to my brother’s house. We needed a break but I really wanted to stay by her side. Our last words to each other were “I love you” – we didn’t know they would be our last though.
She died in the middle of the night from a blood clot in the lungs. It was so sudden and, even though I know it was a blessing in disguise that she went quickly and hopefully without too much pain, my God- I still wanted to be there so she didn’t have to face the end alone.
I look to the bottom right of the screen and there she is, my mum with me on her lap, some time around 1968 – 1969. You can see her too in the window that shows the Australian Women’s Wisdom finalists.
Isn’t she beautiful? I mis her like air. It was only eight months ago.Thanks for sharing your story Simon xox
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Valerie July 11, 2012
Such a beautiful story. Such a beautiful tribute.
Thank you. -
VRog July 11, 2012
Condolences to you and your family – a very moving piece of writing.














