Page 6 of You Were Always the One

‘More drugs, you mean?’ She looks thoughtful. ‘I’m not against painkillers. But I’m already on a lot,’ she says. ‘Aren’t I?’

I nod. ‘You are on quite a high dose. But there are other drugs we can try.’

She’s silent for a moment. ‘You know I’m not afraid of dying. But it isn’t how I thought it would be.’ Her voice trembles. ‘You see, I always thought that when I got to this point, I’d just take everything that was available to me and let it carry me away.’ She pauses. ‘That’s where I am, isn’t it?’ Her eyes rest on mine.

‘You’re getting there,’ I say gently; I can’t be anything other than honest with her. Then I frown. When Dora’s always been so stoic, so matter of fact, it’s clear something’s wrong. ‘What is it, Dora?’

‘I suppose it’s the thought of leaving.’ Her eyes brim with unshed tears. ‘Leaving this house. Leaving my family – and my life. And little Fritz here. It’s been such a beautiful life, Holly.’ Her voice wavers. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready to let it go.’

My heart goes out to her. She’s told me about how she met Walter and how happy they were, about their lives together, their children. What this house means to her. Reaching for her hand, I hold it in mine. ‘I get that,’ I say gently.

‘Do you?’ she says unexpectedly. ‘I hope you do. Time goes so fast. I didn’t really understand that until Walter died. And at the moment, I have to say I’m feeling it intensely. Maybe it means…’ She breaks off.

But I can guess what she’s going to say. In short, she knows the end isn’t far away. ‘It isn’t surprising,’ I say. ‘I think it’s what happens,’ I tell her. ‘When you’ve been as happy as you have.’ I pause. ‘It isn’t easy, saying goodbye.’

‘No.’ She sighs. ‘Is this what’s known as finding closure, do you think?’

‘Perhaps.’ Only Dora knows what it means to her. ‘Maybe it’s part of accepting you’re dying. I think none of us know how that feels until it happens to us.’

Dora’s silent for a moment. ‘Thank you,’ she says quietly.

‘What for?’ I look at her, surprised.

‘For not avoiding the elephant in the room.’ There’s a glimpse of her old spark as she speaks. ‘People never want to talk about dying, do they?’ Her eyes search mine. ‘But right now, I can’t think about anything else.’

‘We can talk about it, if you like,’ I say. ‘Maybe you should try to talk to Natalie, too.’ Natalie’s her daughter, geographically her closest family member. ‘You never know. She might be feeling like you are.’

Dora frowns. ‘I’m not sure about that.’

‘Perhaps try?’ I suggest. ‘You never know. People can be surprising.’ I’ve observed this over the years, a reluctance in some people to talk about the inevitability of dying. Culturally, we avoid it. But in the end, it comes to all of us. And after, life goes on.

As always, towards the end of a life, it’s the smallest things that make a difference. Tea from the cup her daughter gave her; her favourite cake that she eats only crumbs of, her fingers stroking Fritz’s soft fur, his deep purrs soothing her.

‘Tell me,’ I say, ‘about your family.’ It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve heard it all before. As she relives memories that mean so much to her, I listen.

Her face lights up, as it always does when she talks about them. ‘Well, when I met Walter, I knew he was the one. He had such a kind soul. He was a wonderful father to our children. I didn’t know it was possible to be so happy…’ As her voice tails off, her eyes start to close.

There’s a lump in my throat. I’ve known how that kind of happiness feels – just once in my life. But I let it go.

I push the thought away. Today isn’t about me. I spend the rest of the morning sitting with Dora. While she rests, I watch the faintest movement of her chest as she breathes, grateful that while she sleeps, she’s pain free. At times like this, I’m reminded of the fragility of our human existence, of how fine the line is between this life and what comes after; grateful that my job is to do what I can to ease someone’s passing.

Lying next to her, Fritz keeps a half-lidded eye on me until halfway through the morning, Natalie turns up. ‘Hi, Holly. How is she today?’ There are circles under her eyes, her face etched with what I’ve come to recognise as the premature grief that can hit unexpectedly at times like these.

‘She was a bit out of sorts when I got here,’ I say quietly. ‘She didn’t sleep well last night. I talked to her again about going into the hospice. But she’s adamant she wants to stay here.’

Natalie nods. ‘I’ve tried, too, but I didn’t get anywhere. I’m going to stay for a few nights – or longer if needs be. I’ve taken some time off work.’

‘Your mum will be pleased – especially if it means she gets me off her back!’ I say lightly. As I watch Dora, her eyes open slightly. ‘Dora?’ I smile at her. ‘Natalie’s here.’

‘Hi, Mum.’ Leaning down, Natalie kisses her mother’s cheek. ‘I’m going to stay for a bit.’

But instead of her typical protest, a ghost of a smile moves across Dora’s face as she touches her daughter’s. ‘Thank you,’ she whispers.

I take her compliance as another sign that Dora knows time is running out. Leaving them, I call the hospice to give them an update. Then make my way to my next call. After parking outside the house, I check my phone for messages as a notification flashes up.

It’s from Riggs.

Back at home, later that afternoon, I read it again, slightly bemused. In a way, it says nothing. Yet the fact that it’s there at all says everything.