It's now 1:37am on Monday, October 7, and it's a public holiday today. It's taken me a few days to even think about writing about what's happened, and it's only now that I feel I can write about it without crying.
On Thursday morning, I got an early call from Rebecca saying that Nanny had had a stroke. Her mum, who is Nanny's daughter, Pam, said we should get to the home as soon as possible. The nurses had told her that Nanny was in her final stages. I hadn’t slept, and I knew I couldn’t drive, so I asked Mum if she would take me to see Nanny and pick Rebecca up from the Adelaide Clinic. It wasn’t really on the way, but she had no other way of getting there, so Mum agreed. Mum said she would wait for us in the car because she didn’t want to come in—it reminded her too much of what happened with Dad.
When we went into Nanny's room, there wasn't anyone else there. She was lying there asleep, snoring very loudly. It would have been safe to assume she was in a peaceful rest, but I could hear the death rattle that I had heard about. Rebecca called Pam and told her that Nanny was asleep, and asked what she thought we should do—whether we should wake her up or go. Looking back now, I know that even if we had tried to wake her up, we wouldn’t have been able to. But we decided to leave her be, so we left.
On the way back to the car, I said to Rebecca that I noticed Nanny had the death rattle, and she said she heard it too. Mum and I dropped Rebecca back at the Adelaide Clinic and then we went home. It could have been an hour or so later, and I still hadn’t slept. I couldn’t sleep, just thinking about Nanny lying there. Then Rebecca called again. She said Pam had called and said we needed to get back to the nursing home right away.
Mum very kindly agreed to pick Rebecca up again, and we went back to the home while Mum waited in the car. Nanny's condition hadn’t changed much, but this time she had other family there, and everyone’s eyes were tear stained. Nanny's daughter-in-law asked if I would like to sit next to Nanny for a while, and I did. I just lost it. I held her hand and cried and cried, and I could feel everyone looking at me, but I didn’t care. It felt so surreal; I couldn’t believe this was actually happening. I couldn’t believe I had just lost my father and now Nanny.
Rebecca was on the other side of Nanny, and she was very upset too. Pam told Rebecca and me that we should go and come back later that night. When I said goodbye to Nanny, she sort of waved her hand, and everyone said, "Look!" It was a beautiful moment. Who knows if she heard me, but I like to think she did.
Mum and I dropped Rebecca back at the Adelaide Clinic, and I told her to call me when she was ready to go back and we would come and pick her up again. She called me a little later and told me that her doctors had just put her back on the drug Clozapine, and they were worried about the sedating effects. They didn’t want her to go out that night, but I had to go, so I got ready and went alone.
I hadn’t slept since the day before, and it was getting on into the evening by then, but I didn’t feel tired at all. I drove to the nursing home and went to Nanny's room. I think it was around 7:00pm at this stage, and there was no one in her room. I went and sat next to Nanny, put my arm on her shoulder, and cried. I said, "I love you, Nanny," and I know this might sound unbelievable, but she forcibly opened her eyes. It actually scared me a little bit, to be honest, but it was a powerful moment in my life.
I thought I would stay there all night, so I sat down in her recliner. She was still snoring loudly, and I could hear the death rattle. I messaged my brother Eric and told him I was alone with Nanny. He knew that she was in the process of dying, and he asked if he could do a video call with her. I said yes, and he called. I held the phone up to Nanny's face, and he spoke to her. He got very upset and was crying. I pulled the phone back to me and said I didn’t want the video call to go on for too long because I didn’t want her daughter or a carer or a nurse to walk in and see me video calling. It just felt a bit wrong.
My brother was a bit annoyed by that, and I myself am annoyed at myself for saying it. Who would have cared? But it just felt wrong. I put the phone back up to Nanny, and he said his final goodbyes. Then I sat back down in the recliner. After about an hour had passed, Nanny's daughter arrived. She went and sat next to Nanny, and we talked for over an hour. She was, of course, very upset, but Nanny had been so unbelievably miserable, unable to accept her situation, that in some way, knowing she would have peace was a blessing.
I wanted to stay there all night with Nanny, but her daughter said she had to leave. I didn’t want to say, "Well, I'm going to stay," because Nanny was her mother, and it didn’t feel like my place. It was after 10:30pm when we left, and we both went home. I actually got a bit of sleep on Thursday night because it had been a long time since I had slept.
But I was woken around 6:00am when Rebecca rang me to tell me that Nanny had died. You know, sometimes I think I am a sociopath. Not a malicious one, just someone who is devoid of all emotion whatsoever. But I felt this harder than I have felt anything in a very long time. Rebecca and I didn’t speak long, and not long after, Pam rang me to tell me Nanny had died. She said a carer had been with her when she passed. I doubt that very much—carers don’t just sit with people as they are dying—but I didn’t say that. Her daughter cried, and I cried, and it was heartbreaking in so many ways.
She then asked if I would like to go to the nursing home to say goodbye to Nanny. I got Mum to drive me there purely because of sleep deprivation, although it wasn’t so bad by Friday morning. When I got there, Rebecca was there along with Pam and her husband Phil. I still couldn’t believe it, but there comes a time in your life when you have to say, "Grow the fuck up, she is dead." And I sort of did that, a little bit.
Pam's son, Reg, and his wife were booked to be induced with their second child that morning. While we were with Nanny, Reg sent photos to everyone of the new baby boy. Phil lost it and started bawling, talking about the circle of life. It was very sad, and it was a bit too much for me to handle, really. I cried, but I cried harder the day before when all the family was there.
It’s strange—this is my second dead body in six months, and both of them were two of the closest people to me. Sometimes I think life is like a movie, and you only get a certain number of main characters. Now two of mine are gone.
Rebecca wanted to leave, and she asked me if my mother could drop her back at the Adelaide Clinic, which we did. When we got home, I went into my room and slept all day. I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.
When I woke up, I remembered Nanny's favourite movie, The Student Prince. In the six months before she first became unwell, we had watched it twice. She told me there was a song from the movie she wanted played at her funeral called "I'll Walk With God." But there is another song from the movie, "Drink, Drink, Drink," which Nanny and I both agreed was an awesome song.
After Mum went to bed on Friday night, I started listening to the song on repeat, and I just cried and cried and cried. It’s hard for me to explain to anybody what Nanny was to me. It wasn’t like she was my grandmother—it was like she was my best friend, but also like family. In many ways, before she became sick, my entire world revolved around her. It’s such a huge loss for me and for all of her family. I just don’t know what I am going to do without her.
I don’t believe in having regrets in life. Even the mistakes you’ve made keep you on a certain path. But I have to say I regret two things about the night I was at the nursing home, alone with Nanny. I regret making my brother feel pressure to shorten his goodbyes. It felt weird, like someone might have said, "What are you doing?" But I could have easily told them what we were doing, and I deeply regret having cared what people would have thought.
My other regret is in the same vein. I should have stayed with her and been with her when she passed. I keep reliving the moment I said to her daughter that I would go too. I should have just said I would stay. But the opinions of other people stood in my way of doing what my heart was telling me to do. Nanny wouldn’t have cared what people thought, she would have just done it. And as long as I live, I will never again make decisions based on fear of what someone else will think.
Maybe in time, the regret will pass. The only way it will is if something really good happens to me, and I can see that those mistakes put me on the right road.
Rest in peace, Nanny. I love you so much.
