Queen Mother's Funeral Poem She is gone by David Harkins

I went to the 'service of celebration for the life of Andrew Eslick Floyd (25 Feb 1951-21 March 2015) on Friday 17 April and the order of service included the poem He is gone by David Harkins.

Who is David Harkins, I wondered. I looked him up on the internet and discovered the story of his poem. It was read at the funeral of HM The Queen Mother, after which various people tried to track down the author.

The author is David Harkins, a painter in the Lake District, who had made several attempts at establishing himself as a writer, with little success. The poem was not written for a funeral but an expression of unrequited love for a girl he met before he married his wife who now poses for his paintings of nudes.

So for David Harkins, fame at last.

The poem is adapted for funerals by changing he to she, like this

He is Gone

You can shed tears that he is gone
Or you can smile because he has lived

You can close your eyes and pray that he will come back
Or you can open your eyes and see all that he has left
....
You can remember him and only that he is gone
or you can cherish his memory and let it live on.

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back
Or you can do what he would want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.
***
See poeticexpressions.co.uk

Angela Lansbury B A Hons, author of:
Quick Quotations

Verses and inscriptions for gravestones, funeral announcements, services, and thank you notes

Always remembered
Cherished memories of
Happy memories of
In affectionate memory of
In ever loving memory of
In loving memory of
Loving memories of
Precious memories of
Sacred to the memory of
Treasured Memories of

You might feel that a classical rhyme expresses perfectly your feelings.

Cease your weeping and your sorrow
Do not think of them as dead
They have reached their home in heaven
Cares and pains forever fled.

'tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all

God sees when footsteps falter
When the pathway has grown too steep
So he touches the dropping eyelids
And gives the loved one sleep.

If tears could build a stairway

And memories a lane

We'd walk right up to heaven

And bring you home gain.

In the arms of the angels is where
Our daughter (son, mother etc) lays, a
Beautiful person in thousands of ways.

In the garden of happy memories
It is always summer.

Love's last gift
Remembrance.

My favourite place in all the world,
Let me think where that could be ...
.. Well any place you care to name
As long as you're with me.

Not 'til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll his canvas
And explain the reason why
For the dark threads are as needed
In the pattern he has planned
As the threads of gold and silver
In his almighty hand.
(Anon/unknown/B M Franklin)

Pause my family as you walk by
Where you are now, so was I
Where I am now, you will be
Prepare my family
To follow me.

Softly the leaves of memory fall
Gently, I gather and treasure them all.

Sunshine passes, shadows fall
Love and memory outlast them all.

This is not goodbye, just time to
rest your head. The moon will be your
Pillow, the stars above your bed. Sweet dreams
Forever, and do not fear, you will be
Remembered for precious times shared here.


What seems to us a sunset
Is sunrise in another land.

You shared my dreams for the future
You shared my past
You were my first love
You are my last.

You could use the words at the end of a well known rhyme to help write your own verse. You might like to use the person's name if it has a meaning (for example, Pearl was a pearl), or if it rhymes with another suitable word.

You can find more in the literature from funeral directors and printers and books of quotations, and the announcements in local and national newspapers.

On a lighter note, the Victorian humorous inscription which always runs through my head is:
He was right, dead right, as he sped along
But he's just as dead as if he were wrong.

My other favourite is:
Old Martha Snell has gone away
She would if she could but she couldn't stay
She had two sore legs and a baddish cough
But it was her legs that carried her off.

Cemeteries nowadays tend to censor anything which sounds irreverent, but when printing your own notices you can choose whatever you like, if you think it will relieve the gloom and make people feel happier.

Let us end on a cheerful note: Comedian Spike Milligan's gravestone inscription which he chose for himself  was not allowed by the authorities - so the family inscribed it in Gaelic:

I told you I was ill.

Post written by
Angela Lansbury BA Hons, author of: Quick Quotations; Who Said What When.

Souvenir Hair: from the dead, the living parent/widow, and yourself

My regret is that I did not cut a big lock of white hair from my mother-in-law while she was still alive and healthy. I don't really like the idea of hair taken from a dead body, maybe carrying cancer or sweat or decay.

I asked the undertakers for a hair from 'aunty'. I was disappointed to receive a tiny piece of hair, just a few strands in a tiny plastic bag inside an envelope.

I was hoping for a piece the size of a ponytail. Aunty had flowing white hair.

I have kept hair from my father, uncle and 'aunty'. I was able to get hair from the undertakers for my uncle and aunty.

I didn't see my father's dead body. I wonder whether I cut off my father's hair while he was alive without him noticing.  If you have a pair of nail scissors, you can snip off a tiny amount of hair.

Why save hair?
a) Sentimental reasons - the Victorians used to save locks of hair in lockets and rings.

b) Part of the same reason - collecting and saving everything you can of the body and life of your loved one or ancestor, because it is part of them and part of your history. The same feeling makes us want to bury a body and mark a grave, keep a photo and hold a memorial service, even if we don't believe in a resurrection.

c) For forensics - evidence in case of any later case, brought by us or others, suggesting that a doctor, care home, hospital, even the food or water supply, could have poisoned or damaged or weakened the health of the elderly or (or both staff and patients) or all citizens.

d) For health research - if we later discover or want to research anything from viruses to flu to diet, to see what affected the person. It could be in our lifetime to benefit us and our children. Or centuries later to solve mysteries and help historians. Did the Romans die of lead pipes damaging their water supply? Was Napoleon poisoned or did he die of fumes from the buildings paint? Was your ancestor really a victim or can you prove you are a descendant and stand to inherit?

e) To involve your descendants (grandchildren) in your affection for the ancestors not met (your parents, uncles and aunts, grandparents, in-laws).

f) To prove that granny really was a redhead, or that family members resemble each other.

g) To show you are not being sentimental, but the hair really was white, silver, ginger, blonde, brown black.

h) To show grandchildren that they are like their now deceased grandparents.

i) It would be good to have locks of your parents or your own hair at different ages, to show your hair in your youth and middle age and old age. Even to show a hairdresser.

If you are interested in my posts, please follow or forward or read my other blogs.

Tell Us Once (handy, time-saving government agencies' website records deaths)

Very useful service from the government, called Tell us Once.
Go on to
www.gov.uk

You are given a number by the registrar of deaths and can then fill in the forms. This notifies several organisations - you can see from the website. Cancels driving license, passport, pensions etc.

Funeral Photos & Speech Videos

One of my regrets is not getting still photos of the people who attended the funeral and lunch reception for 'aunty'.

After my uncle's funeral, I was the executor in charge and I gathered the mourners into a group and took a photograph because two of them were members of his professional union who I did not know and I wanted a record of them as they were going back to work and not attending the tea afterwards.

However, at Aunty's, I was busy photographing the flower display, saying goodbye to a larger number of well-wishers, and organising cars (as well as arranging to stop at an en route supermarket for extra nibbles - nuts, and decaff coffee).

It seemed an interruption to take photos at the service and after it was over the mourners were ushered out to form a reception line. At the exit door I was in the line, kissing and shaking hands and hugging and nodding and thanking, and not able to take photos.

I managed to pass my phone to the person next to me before I went to the lectern to make the speech. I wanted a video record of the speech. But had no time to ask anybody to take still photo of myself giving the speech.

Our family's best photographer was a chief mourner, son of the deceased, and not inclined to take photos.

At the reception I was busy running around speaking, listening, moving chairs, providing tea. We had not thought it worthwhile to pay for anybody to do the catering. But in the event being busy with the catering was a full time job with me acting as hostess and I was too busy to think of photos.

The moral is, if you want a photo of the occasion, ask the funeral director if somebody can discreetly take a photo of those giving speeches, and of the family in the front row, the casket, the flower display. And ask the caterers or somebody else in advance to take photos of the visiting family who you might not see again. Your nearest and dearest might be dressed up in suits when you normally have your scruffy kids in crumpled tee-shirts.  It's your one chance to show your family looking well dressed, co-operating with each other and paying respects to your beloved relative.

I know that relatives overseas who were unable to attend would have been interested in both videos and still photos. Even friends from Toastmasters International have asked to see the video of my funeral speech.

Relatives who were about to take holiday to celebrate a birthday had to cancel their trip in order to come to the funeral. Sometimes it is good to get away and taken photos of yourself in new surroundings. On a happier note, you might like to read some of the travel posts on my travel blog.

Angela Lansbury, travel writer, author, speaker.
More by and about Angela Lansbury, including speeches, on Angela Lansbury author blogs, Facebook, YouTube, LinkedIn.

Funeral flowers: your choice: Mum, Dad, Granddad, Nan, star, Sikh

For a funeral you might choose horizontal casket top displays, vertical vases, displays both sides of a shelf or table or altar centrepiece, and displays on a stand next to the reader or celebrant or speech-giver.

We were very pleased with our flower arrangement.

Casket display.

You can order hearts, woodland (green leaf rather than flowers), the words Mum, Dad, double heart. rings, palm sheafs, white roses, Aum Hindu tribute, Khanda Sikh symbol and more.

My Last Goodbye

www.mylastgoodbye.co.uk
info@mylastgoodbye.co.uk
Unit 2G MS Business Centre
22 Chapel Lane, Pinner, Middx HA5 1A2
tel:0208 0900 805.

You can see their range on their website. You can also have a six point star.


We had everything organised by:
Hearnden-Smith & Daughters
Funeral Directors,

Hatch End Branch
274 Uxbridge Road
Hatch End, Pinner
Middlesex HA5 4HS
Tel: 020 8421 2202

Harefield Branch
3 School Parade
High Street
Harefield
Middlesex UB9 6BT
Tel: 01895 822979

St Albans Tel:07813 766716.

They have the catalogue from the above flower supplier.

Angela Lansbury, author and speaker.

Funeral at Breakspear Crematorium - who got lost?

A hat, a hat, my kingdom for a hat! Where was my hat? The smart black hat you can see me wearing in my signature picture. 

I looked in the top hat sections of wardrobes. Then I saw my pile of large brimmed fancy summer hats on top of the bookcase in the hall. Great. Until I pulled them down. Covered in dust!

No time to wash. Bang them - not over the food - outside the back door.

The day of the funeral was a Monday, not our choice, but the earliest we could have the funeral. The hospital needed time to get the certificates allowing burial to the funeral directors, allowing time for a possibility of an autopsy, because you cannot cremate too quickly because a buried body can be exhumed if there is any query but once the body is cremated it's too late. 

Then the funeral directors had to contact the crematoriums to see when they had availability, and because of the high number of deaths (among the elderly) due to winter/spring flu, slots were not available. We had decided against going to other cemeteries because of the time and distance of travel between them and the preferred lunch venue.  

Driving and Directions

We saw the body at the nearby funeral directors' chapel, then drove ourselves to the crematorium.

I had carefully emailed everybody with the address of the crematorium including the postcode for satnavs, the website and pointed out that clicking on the website gives you directions from your location to the destination, and the phone number of the crematorium in case anybody got lost

In my large handbag I had my vital speech on a sturdy A5 clipboard so the paper would not shake noisily if I were nervous, and it could quickly be found in my copious bag.

I had a packet of paper tissues in my right hand pocket in case anybody got the sniffles.

I had bought a bag of dried mango from Tesco Express kosher section, in case anybody was so strictly kosher that they could not eat our food without checking the label.

Who Got Lost?

That was because a) at my 93-year-old father's funeral, one of his elderly cousins went to the wrong cemetery and missed the event, arriving, crestfallen and panic-stricken, apologising, disappointed, after we'd left, reaching our reception venue when half the visitors had gone along with most of the food. I also knew in addition to a crematorium not being in a regular high street, it's a timed event, only half an hour, a funeral is a stressful occasion which makes some people procrastinate especially those of my family who are not great time-keepers on happy occasions. 

I had also put the details of the address and postcode and phone number in my mobile phone in case of need.

Danish pastries waiting for us at home

I travelled with our friend, Peter, who had organised the catering and who had collected the freshly made food, to deliver it to the address of the relative (grandson) whose nearby home was the lunch venue.

Peter had collected bridge rolls, fish balls, Danish pastries and apple strudel.

 I had previously visited the room and been glad to see that the table was clear and I had put out the chairs and left the tablecloths - to be placed on the table on the Monday morning, the day of the funeral, not early, to be sure they stayed clean. 

Cloths on the table, done, milk in the fridge, fish in the fridge, bowls for the fishbowls, plates, crockery, urn filled with water, tea and coffee and sugar and spoons. Where were the tea cups!

 Total panic finding espresso cups - and mugs, but only half a dozen cups and matching saucers. (When we returned for the buffet lunch, we found the missing cups, gratifyingly sparkling clean, hiding in the dishwasher.)

After the tea cup delay, another much longer delay. On the Saturday we had put up a new patio table. But it did not come with chairs. The four old patio chairs needed cleaning. It was no fun trying to clean patio chairs while not getting mould nor carpet cleaning spray on a funeral outfit complete with large-brimmed hat.

Despite this, having nearly got everybody to the street safely, the grandson following another car managed to drive past the entrance and disappear up the road. So we started five minutes late. 

We ran one minute over time, so we were four minutes short of the booked 30 minutes. He who paid for the funeral, father of the missing boy, was watching his watch.

Breakspear Crematorium

The first thing I did was take the first door to my right leading the men and women behind me into the toilets. That was a mistake. The funeral director called us all back to the correct, second on the right door.

We mourners entered the crematorium first. Then the coffin was carried in by four men, I presume supplied by the funeral directors, probably staff permanently at the crematorium.

We had been asked whether we wanted the coffin there first. Carried in or wheeled in? In the event the coffin was carried in. This seemed to me suitable and respectful.

No wheeling, creaking contraption.

An coffin carried overhead was much less ghoulish than it being wheeled in like a body on a stretcher, like your loved one on a hospital bed - but this time in a coffin. 

A totally new image, not to be mixed up in your mind with past images of the deceased, nor brought to mind viewing future hospitalisations. Not low, so you feel nervous somebody might be overcome by emotion and throw themselves sobbing onto the coffin, nor look unfeeling if failed to do so.

The son of the deceased had prepared an order of service with a picture of the deceased. 

We had three pieces of music, two poems read by the Funeral Celebrant, Michael Gordon, a quietly spoken, calm and soothing man. He did not dominate nor distract from the family but smoothed the way though the proceedings.

We had been asked if we wanted an order of service and initially declined. But I though it would be nice to have a picture of Pearl in happier times, and something to keep as a souvenir, also to know the music, and the titles and authors of the poems. After we had done the first draft of the order of service, I thought it would be good to have the address of the lunch venue on the back because even though it had been emailed earlier, and it would be announced, people would not have pencils ready at the crematorium and they might want the postcode handy for their satnav.

The only thing I might have changed, or removed, at the crematorium, was the cross. We had specified a secular funeral. However, we seemed to have flowers either side of the cross, perhaps placed there by the previous celebrants or by the crematorium or funeral directors. As we were benefitting from the flowers it seemed churlish to demand the removal of the superfluous cross. 

In retrospect, I do not object. In the event, we had changed the service to include the Jewish kaddish, which does not mention death but affirms belief in the goodness of God, in Hebrew. So with secular poems, the Jewish Kaddish, and a Christian cross, although we had not completely satisfied anybody who wanted the whole service geared for their own belief or lack of it, we had managed to provide a little something to please three different groups likely to be present in a multicultural gathering.

The flowers were lovely. Everybody liked them. Especially me. When I stopped rushing around I just looked at them, because I could not eat nor find the energy to speak.

 I was literally ill from the end of the lunch for another 48 hours, nauseous and tired. I thought I might have flu, but the family thought it was the excitement and stress of rushing around, organising the food and giving one of the two speeches at the funeral.

Two days later I recovered my appetite. The magenta orchids bought by neighbours are a warming, reviving colour and distraction. The smiling face of Pearl on the order of service is something I keep looking at to blot out the recent memories. The funeral was when friends and family came from across the country and from overseas to help us cope.

I keep remembering the words my friend Lucia said to me at an earlier funeral, 'Her death and funeral were only two days in her life, and she wasn't even aware of her funeral. Think of all the other wonderful days you shared with her.'

Brakespear Crematorium

Ruislip

Michael Gordon, Funeral Celebrant

Do Not Resuscitate? Please resuscitate me!

DNR Do not Resuscitate
This is what they ask you in hospital. If you hesitate, they may tell you that the signs are not looking good (my mother), ask if the person had any quality of life, or say they would not have any quality of life if they recovered.

When I went to hospital my mother was put into a bed with the sign above it, Nil By Mouth.

We were asked if we wanted to sign to agree to Do Not Resuscitate. I was over-ruled by my father. As next of kin, he had the last word. I was shocked to learn that I could do nothing.

Only after I got home, and we were phoned to say that she had died, by a nurse who was in tears, did I start to question whether we had given the go ahead for an injection of such a high dose of pain-killing morphine that it would kill her.

I had a car accident in 1984 in Corsica. I was knocked down by a car. I was bleeding from my ear - not a good sign. I had had a bump on her forehead. (I still have a small scar.)  I was unconscious.

Four nurses who were on holiday thought I would not survive. They were wrong.

I had multiple injuries. But I survived.

Here I am today, in 2015, more than thirty years later, writing more sense than a lot of people.

I know what my mother would have said or not said. She would have said: While there's life, there's hope. I have told my family - make sure you try to resuscitate me. 

Flowers at Funerals

What kind of flowers can you place on a coffin or send to a funeral?

I was recently involved in the funeral for my 'aunt' (mother's cousin by marriage but also related to me by marriage). The family delegated to me the flowers for the funeral. The undertakers first suggestion was a wreath.

Wreaths
I don't like wreaths. I find wreaths depressing. After the death of my mother I asked a minister why you cover mirrors, usually with black cloth. I'd thought it was either because you should be thinking of the deceased, not vainly wondering what you looked like, or so you were not more upset and sorry for yourself by seeing your own eyes red from crying. I said to the minister, hopefully, 'Is it to help you feel less unhappy'.

'Oh, no,' he replied blithely, 'It's to make you feel worse!'

I was shocked. I thought the whole purpose of the funeral was to support the grieving next of kin.

I could not see the point of a wreath. It does not make you feel better. It is too large to be kept as a souvenir of the occasion.

I asked, 'Is it possible to have something we can keep as a memento, such as a vase of flowers?'

I was offered an arrangement with a sealed water container like a tear-drop shape , with a ribbon around the waist, which keeps the flowers fresh. We considered a photo of the deceased in the middle of the coffin, with the containers either side. These containers cost £45.


My next thought was a narrow-based vase, so we could transfer the flowers from the late morning funeral to the reception lunch afterwards.

I took the flower brochure in my hand, wanting to have a think. (I'm the Myers Briggs ENFP type who don't make quick decisions.) Then I saw just what I wanted in the entrance hall of the funeral directors' shop.

Elegant, different, curvy, and lasting. About £80.


It was supplied by our funeral directors, Hearden and Daughters. Our only kerfuffle was when we (the mourners) stood at the door beside the coffin, assuming that we would exit by that door, to allow the next funeral members to enter by the door used for out entry. No - we were directed to the other end. As we stood in the corridor outside, shaking hands, accepting condolences and hugs, and saying Thank you for coming, the funeral directors had magically moved the flowers out, from behind the curtain, perhaps from the door nearest the coffin and when we got out to the waiting area by the car park our flowers were already on display.

It looked lovely at the funeral and was transferred outside afterwards when we gathered to says goodbyes to those who had to return to work and to arrange lifts and directions for those coming to lunch.

Afterwards, looking at it, I see that it's a black vase with white artificial flowers, and green 'grass', with turquoise blue circles. It blends in with a black and white minimalist decor but also has a touch of colour to complement colourful surroundings. Just right.

Viewing the body

Restoring A Body's Beauty
Before my mother died in 2000, a friend told me that when her mother died, the best service and advice from the undertakers was to have the body restored for a viewing. Instead of remembering her mother looking fail and distraught, her last memory of her mother was of her lying looking peaceful.

This involves restoring the colour to the ashen cheeks, plumping up the cheeks with some substance, maybe cotton wool. If you don't have make-up added, the skin on the face and hands may look white with red blotches, as it often does in real life when people in their eighties or nineties have thinning skin.

We were asked whether we wanted the deceased in her own clothes or a shroud. It's worthwhile considering what this means. Does it mean cremating lovely clothes, instead of a plain white sheet? Is the shroud cremated or washed and reused? Does it cost more to dress a person in day clothes, or to pay for a shroud?

We were told that the hospital returns the body as is. Often with the eyes and mouth open. If you opt for simply the eyes and mouth to be shut, not to pay any extra, is there any point seeing the body?

The Right Body
You want to be sure you are getting the right body. (There have been cases in the UK and USA of the wrong body being buried. This can involve you in identifying an even more decomposed body, and repeating the funeral service.)

An Undamaged Body
When I went to see my uncle's body in the hospital morgue, I wanted to know what the hospital had done. They had said he would live a year or two after the operation. He didn't. I wanted to be reassured, or to have photographic evidence if the hospital had had a mishap, or made a deliberate error.

The morgue attendant was very angry when he found out I was taking photos. He said it wasn't allowed. I couldn't photograph my own uncle, when I was next of kin!

Acceptance
It's also a way of hanging on, being there until the last moment, for the benefit of the deceased and yourself. Or, to look at it a different way, you can stop wondering if there has been a mistake and wishful thinking that the person is not really dead. Like throwing clods of earth onto a coffin, with the awful thuds as a reminder, you must accept that it is over, they are dead, time to move on.

You can put aside the fear that the person is still alive, breathing, and being buried or cremated alive. They are lying still. No breathing. No sign of movement. Not tossing and turning. Not gasping nor flinging their arms about. At rest.

My view is that you should spend the extra money and have the body made looking pretty. We took photos. Not a pleasant memory. She had red blood brushing around under her eyes and on the side of the head. Her hands looked blotchy. When I opened my photo files on my computer I kept oping up those pictures. Two days afterwards I decided to 'hide' them. Not delete them. I have just hidden them so that they aren't shown every time I open up or scan through recent photos.

Religious Symbols
My uncle was placed in the coffin with a shroud bearing the wrong religious symbol. Since he was an atheist, I reckoned he probably would not care. Although he was dead, I did not like the idea of him being 'pulled about' to remove the shroud and replace it with another.

In both the hospital morgue and the 'chapel' in the undertakers' shop, candles were lit. In the hospital the candles seemed very spooky. The hospital also had prayerbooks for several religions. The undertakers shop had a more restful atmosphere.

Breathing and Oxygen, water by syringe and care

Breathing & Oxygen
A patient who is dying can look very distressed, if you know the signs.

My aunt was gasping for breath. When you think about it, it's not just a sign of the end, it means the poor patient feels dreadful, not enough energy to speak, can feel as if they are drowning.

In hospital she was given oxygen. That's to help breathing.

They said that if she were returned to the care home, the hospital would send oxygen with her.  (And possibly a full time nurse. That was reassuring news. About the oxygen, and nurse.

My next door neighbour, a retired nurse, said there are two stages of approaching death, the first stage, then a dip into the final hours. (So presumably that expensive full time nurse would be needed for less than 24 hours, as well as freeing up a hospital bed.)

Five years earlier, I was told by the same hospital that my father had been given oxygen. I had not understood the significance.

I'd heard it said, 'Old people usually die of pneumonia'.

Flinging Arms
She was also flinging her arms about. The car home manager told me, 'That's a sign of distress'. I had sort of gathered that. But being told it clarified the issue, made me more anxious that my sick relative should be given pain relief and attention.

Water By Syringe
By this point the patient could not sit up unaided to speak, or see us, or drink, although the bed had a rising device. She would not or could not swallow. So she was not taking in water. The care home staff told us that they had been using a syringe for an hour to put drops of water in her mouth to keep it moist.

This is time-consuming for staff. Explains why you sometimes find it hard to summon people for what now seem relatively trivial matters such as 'can we have a cup of tea' or 'change the TV channel' or 'just tell tell you we've arrived' or 'we are leaving'.

This news reassured me that she was getting attention and care.

Caring for the dying: benefit from my hindsight on hydration and decisions

How do you keep them alive? What do you say? Do you leave them in hospital or get them out? Is Do Not Resuscitate the kindest thing or handing the hospital a death warrant?

I've had four lots hospital visits, been bystander at two decision about do not resuscitate, been to four funerals, and been executor of two wills. Four people have died, my mother, father, uncle and aunt.

My Uncle In Hospital
  My uncle went into hospital. He was told an operation would prolong his life, from life expectancy of two or three months to two or three years. He was a beloved and unforgettable character - he would go home by taxi or bus during the day to collect his post and look innocent and surprised at night at us visitors when nurses had asked us to search for him.

Organ Donation
  He generously wanted to leave his body to science or for transplants but the hospital had no forms and people told me that organs of elderly people are not needed so much as those of the young and fit. I later read that if you have cancer you should not be giving organs for transplants.

No Touching
After his operation he was in intensive care. I was told not to touch him without wearing protective gloves because he had MRSA.  My father, in his nineties, was at even greater risk of catching something from my uncle or me. So uncle got no comforting touch from visitors.

Communication
Communication was difficult. You had to stand at the foot of the bed so he could see you without turning his head, in order for him to lip-read. I didn't realise he was lip-reading until after his death when I found books on lip-reading.

Uncle was also known to be hard of hearing and the hearing aids were missing. Later he recovered enough to point, or we asked a nurse, and we located his hearing aids on the windowsill.

Lost Ashes
When he died I received the ashes in a green plastic urn. I hid it because my throwaway family would immediately have chucked it out as being morbid and a waste of space. I was supposed to put his ashes in the grave next to his wife from whom he had been divorced many years. I am still hunting for the ashes, wondering whether the urn has been moved or thrown out.

Saving Ashes
Nowadays you can buy pretty painted urn covers, which look like works of art, which you can place in a display cabinet.

Giving Bad News
When my father was in hospital the doctors asked if I wanted them to tell him he had terminal cancer or whether they should tell him. I thought they would do it better. I was wrong.

He immediately said he'd had enough and wanted to die. So they stopped making any attempts to keep him alive. (Or in my view, comfortable.)

Dehydration
My son had already warned me that dehydration results in swelling of the tongue. This means you cannot drink or swallow food. To be that dehydrated must be very miserable. Not just the mouth, the whole body must ache and you must be very depressed. I know that a glass of water revives you fast when you are feeling low.

He found it hard to swallow. He had thrush in his mouth, and feet. I asked them to treat his feet. That treatment might have helped his mouth. A chiropodist or food specialist had a door with a sign only yards away. The doctors said he could be treated for the thrush after he left hospital. He never did.

Exploratory Surgery and CD
He went into hospital with pneumonia. That was cured by pills.

But I allowed them to do exploratory surgery to see what was the matter. They said it was too late, especially given his age, 93, to operate. But he caught Clostridium difficile in hospital. I thought that was like MRSA and you caught it from other patients, even yourself, and hands not washed. Then, five years later, my doctor's surgery nurse said CD comes from surgery.

Student Examination
I also allowed a group of students with the doctor on a visit to examine my father (with his permission). I thought that we should keep in with the staff and be co-oerative, both out of gratitude and as a precaution to maintain goodwill. I also wondered whether with more thoughts and discussion, we would be more likely to get an accurate diagnosis of the problem and suggestions for treatment.

I said that anybody touching him should wash their hands first. They looked most surprised. Given that he ended up with CD, I now regret letting them examine him at all. The more the merrier does not apply to spreading germs to the vulnerable elderly, especially when they are already sick.

Cost of Care And Nurses
My father kept asking to leave hospital. The staff kept warning me of the prohibitive cost of home nursing. Looking back, I would have sacrificed any amount to keep him alive longer. Furthermore, if you are paying inheritance tax on a parent's estate, and fees to lawyers to administer probate, you are better off paying for the nursing care, because half the cost is from money which would go in tax anyway.

Transfer From Hospital to Home
When my father was in hospital I did not know how to get him out. I did not know if I needed permission, whether I would get help with a wheelchair or ambulance.

Looking back, I think I was too shy to ask. It seems absurd, doesn't it? When to transfer, or how to transfer. Later I was told that a hospital has to let you walk out, and if you cannot walk, to assist with a wheelchair or ambulance.

If I had transferred my father to a private hospital, I could have asked them for advice or help to make the arrangements.

Dehydration
Unfortunately either the season or the stress meant that I caught flu. I was too weak to drive to hospital. (I could have called a taxi.) I was afraid of taking in germs to my father or anybody else. I could have called a taxi. When I tried to offer my father a sip of water I realised he could not drink and urgently needed to be put on a drip.

Guilt and Reliving Deaths, Dramatic Moments and Decisions
Feeling guilty, going over and over the circumstances of you loved one's death, these are common experiences even when all your friends and medical staff tell you, 'You did everything you could'.

Information for Survival
Some people say, what will be will be. I think my family survived as long as they did because they wanted to survive and guarded their health. My father lived to 93. I only wish I had kept him going longer. I hope my experiences will help you be better informed in order to make what you feel is the right decision.

Caring For The Sick And Terminally Ill

We received a call from the care home - she's very poorly. I asked the manager if the granny would be better off either in hospital or in a hospice. I was told she would be with people she knew in the care home and less confused.

We went in to see her. She is sitting up and bleeding from her mouth, pleased to see us but has dementia and doesn't say anything coherent and keeps shutting her eyes.

The next day we receive another call. She is worse. I wonder whether they mean she is dead and don't want to tell us in case we crash the car on the way to see her. But it's not quite that bad.

We go in to visit again. She is now in a bed on wheels with high sides. The care home assistant tells us he has sat with 'granny' for an hour putting water in her mouth with a syringe because she cannot swallow.

The care home manager thinks the hospital staff won't have time to give the patient so much attention.

Mattress And Bed Sores
The care home bed has been given a mattress designed to reduce pressure sores, because the patient now has frail skin and even sitting up or pressing down on heels causes problems. The patient has to be moved to prevent too much pressure continually on the same spot.

They have called the GP. We ring the GP. The receptionist tells us that the GP is away for the weekend, back Monday. The home manager tells us she has called the GP/Ambulance service and said it's urgent that the patient gets a visit for morphine and diagnosis.

GP
The weekend is a bad time because the GP is not on call and the out of hours GP tells us that without knowing the patient's history and without a Do Not resuscitate form there are certain procedures he cannot authorise. (I presume any amount of morphine which would cause the patient to relapse, because the staff are reluctant to risk having to keep calling all hands on deck to resuscitate constantly. Maybe they need two to four or more staff attempting to resuscitate for a minimum of fifteen minutes before they can conclude that attempts to resuscitate are unsuccessful.)

Our on call doctor arrives in a car marked on call. Not the old system of a GP in a banger.

He seems very efficient. He checks heart, mouth, chest, back for heartbeat. He checks oxygen levels with a prick of the finger of the patient and says her oxygen levels are low. (Is that why she is gasping for breath. Must be most unpleasant, and a strain on the heart.)  This can easily be corrected in hospital by supplying oxygen.

Treatable?
He says that her lung condition is treatable. And antibiotics can solve the mouth infection. But until she recovers her strength enough to eat she needs to be on a drip so he calls on ambulance to take her to hospital. He says the patient's condition is reversible and rings for an ambulance to be sent urgently.

The care home manager is not pleased. She thinks the patient will die anyway and will be surrounded by strangers who do not care as much as the staff who have known the patient day and night for nearly ten years. The staff can remember when granny was first admitted downstairs (the floor for those who can walk unaided and need less attention). Granny was a jolly lady who occasionally fell over and had occasional bad days of memory lapses but in between was her old chatty, friendly self.

Hospital Visit
Weekend afternoon - we go to the hospital. Granny has her eyes shut and does not respond at all. Her breathing is shallow but regular. She is on oxygen.

Rose Symbol Requesting Silence
I read the notice about the Rose symbol in the wards. If you see this symbol, somebody is dying or dead, so please be quiet for the benefit of those who are sick or grieving.