The boys were all near her, and she waved them away from the bed, knowing she had a good while until she was actually on her way out. They didn't need to see that, they were still young enough not to understand that this would be them one day. They still believed life was long, that they had ages to go before they would need to make any arrangements for their own burials or their deaths.
She was actually looking forward to her death. Was ready, more than ready. But this constant pretence that she was not bothered about it was tiring. It was for her kids' benefit of course, it was them who weren't ready. She knew that they would be all right though. They were close, they would look out for one another, and she had to be content with that.
'Bring me mum to see me. I want to see her tomorrow.'
'Are you sure?'
'Course I'm sure. I've got cancer, not fucking Alzheimer's. Do what I ask, will you?'
They all nodded in agreement and she wanted to cry for them. They left her a little while later, and she could finally let herself relax; the pain was so bad that she couldn't even breathe in peace. She took her morphine with a greediness that made her understand the junkies she had always hated, seen as weak. Their pain she knew was mental, hers was physical, and she just prayed for a good death, even though she was hanging on until she finally saw a priest. She knew that whatever had happened in the past, she would only pass properly with the Last Rites.
Death didn't scare her, she welcomed it. In fact, she felt that it was ordained somehow; it meant she could be with her daughter, her baby girl, her little Colleen.
Her Patrick would be waiting for her as well, she knew that. She didn't know how she knew that, why she was so convinced of it, but she was.
Death was a great leveller, it was something that no one could avoid. Money, power, nothing could stop it. Death. It was a law unto itself. It was something that you could only do alone. Beggars and kings, as her husband had pointed out, it happened to them all. She had read once that Elizabeth the First had said on her death bed: 'All my riches for but a moment in time.'
Well, she didn't want any longer, she was happy to go now. She was happy to die, and to sleep finally without the pain and the burning that told her she was still in the land of the living. Her kids needed to be freed from her sick bed anyway, it wasn't fair on them. They needed to bury her so they could get on with their lives once more, without her illness taking over everything.
Once she died, they could live their own lives at last, and remember her as she was, strong and vibrant, looking out for them all, instead of seeing her as she was now, a tiny woman in constant pain, and wishing for death as she had once wished for life.
Kathleen would be all right, as would Eileen; in fact, they looked better already. Lance's death had frightened Eileen, stopped her drinking, made her realise that there was more to life than her bloody problems. And Kathleen was free of him, the bastard. Kathleen and Eileen were once more a duo, once more closer than close.
She could go now in peace, she had done all she could for them, and the last thing she could give them, the last thing she could do for them, was let them see a happy death. Their father's death had been so violent; Patrick had been murdered with such hatred and so much blood. She wanted them to feel she had gone from them without any kind of fear or guilt whatsoever. They needed to say goodbye to her, and then go on with their lives. She understood now, that, as a parent, it was the most important thing you could give your children, you just wanted them to feel peace of mind.
She wanted the Last Rites now, even though she had not been to Mass for the longest time. This close to meeting her maker, she knew she wanted to see the priest, needed to make her last confession, receive her last Communion. The priest was due to come in the morning, she was looking forward to it.
God was good in his own way, he had given her the life she had lived, and she knew now, staring death in the face, that if she had been taught anything, it was that when all was said and done, life was for living, and no matter how bad that living might seem at the time, it was far better than the alternative.
Patrick came back into the room then, with her MST, and she grabbed her son's hand tightly, saying, 'Bring me my mother, bring her tonight, darling. I don't think I have as long as we thought.'
'Are you sure, Mum, sure you want to see her?'
She sighed once more. 'Oh, please, Pat, I can't go without seeing her, even you know that!'
He hugged her gently, knowing how painful her body was, knowing the cancer had crept everywhere, into her bones, and also knowing that she had let it happen. Knew that she had known for a long time that the cancer had returned, and she had decided to forego any treatment. Had kept it secret. She wanted to go, and he respected that, even as he hated her for it.
'Bring her, will you? I'm so tired, Patrick. Not of the cancer, but of the rest of it! I know you'll all survive without me, and I also know you'll look after the little ones. You're a good kid, Patrick, you were always my favourite. I trusted you, and I'm trusting you now. Bring me my mother, let me do this last thing before I go.'
He was nearly in tears, and she said with a forcefulness she didn't know she had in her, 'Oh, stop it, let me go in peace. I can't be sorry for you all, or I'll hang on, Pat, and, if I hang on, you lot will only remember me dying, you won't remember me as I was. The things I did to make life easier for you will be forgotten, all you lot will remember is me dying, and that is not what I want.'
'We don't want you to go. The doctor says you can still have chemo…'
'I don't want chemo, another few months or weeks, I just want to be me again, Patrick. Just me back in charge of my own life. I want to go, and you have to make sure it happens nicely, without anyone being hurt or worried. I'm ready to go, Son, and I want to go while I am still lucid. I don't want my kids to remember me as nothing more than a bag of bones and a fucking rotten smell. I want them to remember me alive, so stop talking shite and bring me mother. The only thing I need now is to talk to her, nothing more.'
He nodded then. 'OK, but I am staying with you, all right?'
'Of course! You can be there and you can earwig, just don't interfere.'
He laughed again, a loud and boisterous laugh that she knew was as phoney as Ivana's blond hair. 'Oh, Mum…'
'Oh, son! Patrick, please, I am so tired, darling, just bring her, will you, and let me do this one last thing before I go, please?
Annie was thrilled that her daughter wanted to see her. She had heard how ill she was and she wanted to make her peace with her. She was being ostracised by everyone, and she couldn't stand that; she needed the family around her and hoped that Lil would guarantee that happened. Annie had completely wiped out Lance and what he had done, what she had caused, and what she had hidden. It was like none of it had ever happened.
Annie was now, as far as she was concerned, without stain.
As she walked into her daughter's bedroom, she could smell the cancer, smell the hopelessness, and the medication that was keeping her daughter alive. She sat by the bed; she had not seen Lil for a while, and the change in her daughter was shocking. She was so thin, and her face, that lovely face, was all eyes and cheekbones. Her hair was still intact, but thinner, and up close she could see her daughter's scalp. It was cruel, upsetting to see her like that.
'Hello, Mum.'
Annie, for the first time in her life felt someone else's pain, saw her daughter's predicament, knew she was dying and knew she was lucky that she had this chance to make amends.