‘It’s been a dream,’ says Elizabeth. Stephen, in clear moments, had been very certain. His race was run.
‘And they’ll look after you? Your friends?’
‘They will do what they can,’ says Elizabeth. They will all think about the choice that they would make in Stephen’s position. What choice would Elizabeth make? She doesn’t know. But Stephen was sure.
‘Joyce,’ says Stephen. ‘Joyce is your friend.’
‘She is.’
‘And tell Kuldesh I will see him soon. Weekend if he’s around.’
‘I’ll tell him, my darling.’
‘I might shut my eyes for a moment,’ says Stephen.
‘You do that,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I think you’ve earned a rest.’
Stephen’s eyes close. He sounds drowsy.
‘Tell me the story of when we first met,’ says Stephen. ‘That’s my favourite story.’
It is Elizabeth’s favourite story too.
‘I once saw a handsome man,’ says Elizabeth. ‘And I knew I was in love. So I dropped my glove outside a bookshop, and he picked it up and presented it to me, and my life changed forever.’
‘Handsome was he?’
‘So handsome,’ says Elizabeth, tears now streaming. ‘Like you wouldn’t believe. And, you know, my life didn’t change that day, Stephen. My life began.’
‘He sounds a lucky bugger,’ says Stephen, half asleep. ‘Will you think of me in your dreams?’
‘I will. And you think of me in yours,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Thank you,’ sighs Stephen. ‘Thank you for letting me sleep. It’s just what I need.’
‘I know, darling,’ says Elizabeth, and strokes his hair until his breathing stops altogether.
61: Joyce
Well, I don’t know what to say or do. So will you just let me write? Let me think out loud?
The ambulance arrived at about five p.m. No sirens, which usually tells its own story. No hurry.
You always wonder where the ambulance is going, that’s only natural. One day it will come for you, and other people will look, and other people will talk. That’s the way of things. The undertakers use a long white van, and that is no stranger to Coopers Chase either.
Stephen has died. Elizabeth went with him in the ambulance. I rushed down as soon as I had worked out what was going on. I got there in time to see his body being taken away. Elizabeth was climbing into the back of the ambulance. She caught my eye, and she nodded. She looked like a ghost, or an entirely new person. I held out my hand and she took it.
I told her I would tidy the place up a bit while she was gone, and she thanked me, and said she would like that. I asked if it was peaceful, and she said that for Stephen it was.
I saw Ron hurrying towards us, knee and hip both hobbling him. He looked so old. Elizabeth pulled the door of the ambulance closed before he could reach us.
Ron held me as the ambulance drove away. I should have known, shouldn’t I? Should have known what Elizabeth and Stephen were up to. What would I have said if I’d known? What would you have said?
There is nothing to be said, and yet I want to say something.
It is not a choice I would have made, I know that. If I had been Elizabeth, and Gerry had been Stephen, I would have clung on to him for dear life. Found him a nice place in a nice home, visited every day, as he went from knowing me, to recognizing me, to not recognizing me, to never having heard of me. I would have seen it out, right to the end. My love wouldn’t have allowed another outcome. I know plenty of people with partners in homes, dying slowly, and you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy. But to end it all? To end it before the finish? That’s not a decision I could take. While love is alive, I could never choose to kill it.
But I suppose I am talking about my love, aren’t I? What if my love were alive and Gerry’s wasn’t? What if I am simply thinking of the joy that looking at him and holding him would bring me? A joy that would last far longer than his? And all the while knowing that every night and every morning he would sleep and wake alone, frightened and confused?
I really don’t know at all. Dementia doesn’t rob everyone of joy and love, even though it does its damnedest. There are smiles and laughs, but, yes, there are cries of pain. We had a debate at Coopers Chase, two years ago or so, about euthanasia. It was impassioned, and reasoned, and thoughtful, and kind, and moving, on both sides. I don’t remember if Elizabeth spoke. I said a few words, just about my experience with end-of-life care in hospitals. And about the times we had upped a medication to hasten things along right at the very end, just to stop the cruelty of the pain.
But Stephen wasn’t at the very end, was he? Perhaps people define ‘the end’ differently?
The two of them must have made a very deliberate decision. Imagine the conversations. Normally people visit Switzerland; they go to Dignitas – we’ve had two or three here. But that decision often has to be taken much earlier than one would like. You have to be capable, in mind and body, of giving your consent. Of being able to travel. So you are not able to wait until the last minute, which is another cruelty. I have looked into all this, of course I have. Anyone my age who says they haven’t at least taken a peek is lying.
Elizabeth and Stephen wouldn’t have needed Dignitas of course. Elizabeth has access to anything she needs. As the ambulance arrived, a GP was leaving, and he wasn’t a GP I’ve ever seen around here before.
I often joke about how emotionless Elizabeth is, and sometimes she can be, it’s true. But not this. She will speak about it when she’s ready, I’m sure, but this must have been Stephen, mustn’t it? He was always a very strong man, a very certain man. I don’t think he could bear what was happening to him. The life he was losing. And he was still just about in a place where he could do something about it.
I should have seen it. Elizabeth taking a few days out. Anthony coming to visit. I should have known Elizabeth and Stephen weren’t about to separate, Stephen wasn’t about to let Elizabeth care for him as wave after wave of dementia crashed over his brain. Wasn’t about to let her see him go through all of that. Some people live by different rules. I have always been too frightened to.
I understand, I do. If Gerry had begged me, I would have said yes too. I don’t like to admit that to myself, but I would. Love can mean so many different things, can’t it? And just because it’s precious doesn’t mean it can’t be tough.
When I saw Elizabeth in the ambulance, and held her hand, that was love. And when I saw Ron trying to run to her, that was love. And Ibrahim has taken Alan out for me, just for half an hour, and that’s love too.
I am cooking a shepherd’s pie, and I will leave it in Elizabeth’s fridge when I go over. I know Elizabeth well enough to know the place will be spotless, but it won’t do any harm to run the Hoover round, and maybe light a candle.
I will miss Stephen, but then I missed him already. Perhaps that’s how Elizabeth felt too. And, most importantly, that’s how Stephen must have felt. He must have missed himself every day.
Would I wish that on either of them? No.
Would I want someone to do the same for me? No.
I will cling, kicking and screaming, to every second life has in store for me. I want the full picture, for good or for ill.
I know that Ron and Ibrahim will be together this evening, and I know I would be very welcome, but I need time to think. About Gerry and Stephen, and Elizabeth and love.
I will think back to Stephen saying goodbye to us the other day. The proud husband, looking so handsome, his smile working its usual magic. That’s how Stephen wanted to be remembered, and surely he is allowed that?