Day One

As she held him close her hair was sucked into his artificial
respirator. It seemed
absurd. She giggled. 21 years of marriage, and one of her last acts was
to make a
mess of his life support system. The nurses gently pulled her hair from
his mouth and
repositioned her head. But still, as she hugged and stroked him, she
inadvertently
disconnected the heart monitor. The intensive care ward shrieked with
bells and high
pitched warning tones.

Larry would have laughed with her, she later reckoned, he'd never lost
his tenderness
for her chaotic effect on the material world.
"Joy love, can you just move to one side so we can reposition the
monitor"

The nurse slowly and gently moved her arm and put it on his shoulder.
Right here,
right now, Larry was in bed with her, and in 30 minutes they would be
turning off his
life support system. Had she known yesterday he was going to die she
would have
spent all night holding and kissing him. As it was, she had taken a
phone call at 10 am
from his mate Rob saying he had collapsed at the Notting Hill Carnival
and had been
taken to hospital. These last two or three hours were all she'd had ,
and despite tubes,
monitors, nurses, friends and some unwanted family around, the only way
through this
was to climb into bed beside him and feel his body with awareness and
immediacy
whilst she had the chance. She lay her head on his chest and whispered
into his heart.

'Oh Larry, we've both hurt each other so much. I am so sorry for the
pain I have
caused you. Please forgive me. You have caused me great pain too, and I
forgive you
my darling. Go with peace, my Angel, go with peace.'

She continued to hold and stroke him, to feel and experience each
precious last
moment.
Last moments are better employed in the living of them. Anticipating
the loss would
have robbed her of these last hours. Now down to a few more minutes.
She felt no
sense of unreality, adopted no observer stance, felt no shock. Rather
she stayed right
in the moment and experienced the absolute "nowness" of this
astonishingly
unexpected event. All the details were sharply delineated yet
inextricably connected.
Nothing was odd or felt out of place. It was a time of pure awareness.
Yet when she
attempted to describe it later she found it confusing. This awareness
seemed to
operate on its own. As if she had simply become pure awareness. For now
however,
it was living with every unfolding moment.
All around the country phones were ringing as friends phoned friends
and passed
around the news. Life support to be switched off at 7.30. It was only
later Joy realised
how many people had shared those last moments with her.
At 7.20 she asked that some of the visitors left. Larry's niece
Catherine and her mother
Esther walked out. Fiona, one of Joy and Larry's close friends, held
the hand of her
brother Paul. He gently made the sign of a cross over Larry's face and
also left the
bedside, still holding Fiona's hand. There were now four left with
Larry. Joy in bed
with him, his mother Irene sitting on a chair holding his hand and
kissing his face.
Then Brian his only brother, and Louise, who had known Joy and Larry
for 22 years,
placed themselves at the bottom of the bed. The nurses drew the curtain
round this
little group.
Joy nodded towards the staff and the machine was switched off and tubes
pulled out.
Life left instantly. Within seconds the skin was grey and the body
stilled. His mothers
heart tore open and spilled its contents through her agonised weeping.
With an
amazing show of love for her son, she stroked his already waxen face
and spoke gently
to Joy.
'At least he doesn't have to face the pain of losing me now'.
His brother heaved a groan of despair from the bottom of his being
.
Joy watched with detachment as Irene tried to take Larry's gold ring
off.
'It was Larry's dad's wedding ring' Irene explained.
A family heirloom which she wanted back. It would not come off, and Joy
took Larry's
cooled hand and put the ring finger in her mouth. The wetness in her
mouth loosened
the ring sufficiently to let it slip off and she gave it to his mother.
Irene looked straight
at Joy.
'Larry had 2 other rings I'd like Joy, Uncle Darcy's diamond, and my
mothers wedding
ring'.
'I know where they are' Joy said, 'he keeps them in his little white
pot by the bed, but
he always told Fiona she could have Darcy's diamond. It was a kind of
running joke
between them. "My diamond is bigger than yours". They used to compete
with other
on the size of their jewels'.
Joy had never minded that Fiona was to be the recipient of this large
diamond. She
had never particularly liked jewels and found others fascination with
diamonds
unfathomable.
Outside the cubicle Fiona stood with Larry's niece Catherine. 'That
ring is supposed to
be mine', Catherine blurted out on hearing the conversation inside the
cubicle.
Fiona winced at this. She decided she didn't want the diamond anyway.
It was a family
heirloom and it would never now be fun to own it.
Louise took Joy's hand and they walked next door to the no smoking ante
room where
they lit up 2 Marlboro lights. Over by the large window Joy blew her
smoke outwards
and upwards towards the stars. They were 15 floors up and she
momentarily toyed
with the idea of jumping out. Louise and Fiona joined her by the
window. All three had
known him for over 20 years.
The rest of the group walked into the ante room but did not join Joy.
His mother initially
stayed on the other side of the room holding tightly to her remaining
son Brian and her
granddaughter . This was not bearable! To lose 2 children - Monique as
a baby and
Larry in his 40's was too cruel. Brian stood hopelessly beside his
mother. He vaguely
registered there was no point to his arms and was slightly irritated by
their heavy
encumbrance hanging as they so obviously did from his shoulders.
Larry's Mum
caught Joys eye and they walked towards each other, arms stretched out.
They held
each others hand and wept.
Others now joined them in the room where they'd been called in by the
staff. Fiona's
brother Paul, Brian's ex wife Elle, their daughter Rosemary, doctors
and a policeman.
Joy had felt like most brides, the most important person at her
wedding, and had
enjoyed being at the centre of attention. She felt similar now - she
felt important - and
she grasped this little bonus quickly. The pain would come but if
pleasure was to be
had she would grab the smallest morsel to feed on.
The room looked to her for the next move.
She briefly scanned the room. She let go of Irene's hand and walked
over to Paul,
who put his arms round her and hugged. Oh, that felt nice; she wanted
to stay wrapped
up there. An oasis away from the loss and pain that was to come. God
please keep it
away for a while yet. Her face wet with tears but no real pain yet.
Gently Paul pulled
her away to let the nurse in. The little bag of personal effects struck
her as odd. The
first odd note to appear. She'd been given Larry's mobile phone and
wallet -he'd be
appalled! They never shared money and this definitely wasn't hers. Oh
dear Larry,
she bit her lip with what may have been embarrassment. There was ?120
in the wallet.
There was more to come.
She now turned and focused on Larry's family. His mother wanted her son
home with
her.
"When can we take him back". Irene asked - too quickly and tremulously.
The panic
in her voice signalled she already knew the answer. She was not going
to be allowed
to take darling Larry home. Her eyes darted around the room looking for
support. She
looked at Joy. Oh God Joy, no, Joy you must give him back to me.
Unspoken words
but Joy's stillness as she looked compassionately back brought the
truth ever closer.
Brian also read the scene.
"They won't release his body for a while mum, lets go home, its a long
drive down to
Dover".
"Oh no, Brian" , she put on her most authoritative voice, "I don't want
to leave him here
alone. I feel we could wrap him up and take him back" she smiled coyly
as she said
this, perhaps hoping some long forgotten old flirting routine would get
her what she
desperately wanted now. Then she jumped to another course of action,
the thought of
returning home was too dreadful, she wanted to go back to Larry's
house. "Well, we'd
better go back to Hertford, I want to go back with Joy. You don't mind
do you?.
But Joy did mind. No-one else was to enter the house, disturb the
evidence of his last
meal and drink, cradle their hands round his last cup of coffee, listen
to the last c.d. he
played. No one was to take a single thing more away from her today. And
she knew
Larry's mother would go straight through the house, tidying up,
cleaning, rummaging
through drawers. No she wasn't having it. Joy fielded it kindly, but
effectively. Larry's
family could come and stay for the funeral - she would let them know
details later. This
sense of control was soothing to Joy. For a moment she had felt the
control slipping
away and it felt bad. The conflict dissipated in the effort of
following the next few
minutes. Mobiles, cigarettes, papers, statements, signatures. Brian
took his mothers
arm and led his family in the opposite direction to face their own
destiny.

Joy, Fiona and Louise took the lift down to the entrance and stepped
out into the new
world. London traffic sped behind them on the Westway. Outside the
hospital's
revolving doors were a huddle of partially dressed patients, complete
with mobile drips,
having cigarettes. It was an image that came back to her long after the
event, and
which one day helped Joy decide she no longer needed to smoke. But for
the moment,
the smoking was a comfort. Joy lit up one each for her and Fiona.
Someone had sent
a car to pick them up and they were driven back to Hertford. Joy
remembered little of
the 45 minute drive back. She suddenly recognised the turn into the
driveway of
Fiona's house and was aware that it had only been 10 hours since she
had driven out
of it.
Fiona's house opened its doors and welcomed them in. Her husband David
had lit a
fire, though it was the end of August. There was tea, wine, brandy,
boiled eggs and
toast There were phone calls, there were flowers. John and Gianna, old
friends, who
had to be dissuaded from coming to the hospital when they heard the
news this
afternoon came up to share their grief with Joy. Joy's sister Heather
arrived with her
partner Nick and their 3 children. Behind the noise and chatter there
was a stunned
silence.
Eventually the phone calls stopped, the visitors left. Mattresses were
thrown downstairs
and quilts and pillows flung over them. There was a palpable, safe,
soothing bed of
love surrounding this little group. Joy lay between Paul who held her
hand and Louise
who gently stroked her hair. Some infinitely gentle and mysterious
force wrapped
them all up and as the fire crackled, brought them to rest. Paul kissed
Joy's head and
left the room. The three women gradually stopped talking and tonight,
miraculously,
they slept.

DAY 2 (To follow if there is enough interest.)