The Mothership recently lost one of her closest and dearest friends. They met in Cairo a thousand years ago when my parents were still married. Dad worked with Joyce’s husband, Mike and the couple were regular visitors to our home. Their friendship has prevailed through thick and thin, from country to country, so that even though they didn’t get to meet up too often they stayed in touch regularly by long phone calls, postcards and letters (Joyce never did get the hang of e-mail). Once they all unpacked their last suitcases and settled in the UK – Joyce and Mike as a result of his ill-health and the Mothership wanting to see more of her ‘babies’ (don’t think that means me: it means her grandbabies) they have been able to meet more regularly. As ever, the moment you put Mum, Mike and Joyce in a room together, it was as though they had never been apart. I have no doubt that the whole of Suffolk was kept away as they reminisced into the night.
Joyce was diagnosed last year with a terminal illness: being a forthright Yorkshire lass, she insisted on brutal honesty from her doctors, and then made the best of the time left to her. She played tennis when her treatment allowed, attended the exercise group at Mike’s Heart Club, regularly organised lunches and short trips away with their friends, visited family, walked the dog, carried on shopping and arranged everything so that Mike’s life would be easier when she was no longer around. She even organised her own funeral, which was packed to the rafters, as I would have expected: Joyce was such a great character and a wonderful friend. Her loss has made me realise with sadness, that my mum is getting older.
For several years I have held an enduring power of attorney for Her Mothership, a legal document that will let me make decisions about her welfare, money or property in the event that she is unable to. Although I hope I never have to use it, this seemed particularly important when she was wandering around Africa and other far-flung places. Of course she thinks she’s still a spring chicken, chasing around after her granddaughters with ease but you never know what’s around the corner: take recent events in Norway, or the London Bombings.
Having her live in such odd places made me acutely aware that I knew nothing about her express wishes. The day she signed the Power of Attourney, I made her promise she’d put a file together ‘just in case’ so that, if the worst happened, and I had to fly halfway around the world to pack up her belongings, I would at least have some idea of what she owned and where she kept it. I don’t even have any contact details for her brothers and sisters. Then there’s the other things you need to think about: Should I put her in a care home? Will she want a DNR? What are her religious beliefs? Does she, like Joyce, have specific ideas about her funeral: burial/cremation, hymns/readings, church/woodland, religious/not? I’ve asked several times but we always get distracted. I’m not sure she’s ready to give this part of her life (or death) serious thought. Or perhaps she doesn’t think it important. Although she’s moved plenty of times in her life (54 addresses at the last count), she has always disliked intensely the act of saying goodbye and the ‘farewell party’, preferring a quiet, fuss-free departure through the back gate. That’s all well and good, but if there’s one thing I know about my mother, it’s that people love her. Lots of people. Who will all want to say goodbye to her. And I will have to organise all this whilst mourning the loss of the most influential person in my life. Writing her thoughts down would be a big help in the planning process. As would her actually fulfilling her promise and sorting the bloody ‘Just In Case’ file out.
Joyce chose the hymn ‘Jerusalem’ for her funeral. As well as being a rousing anthem, (and, incidentally, one of the hymns I would have at my funeral) Jerusalem is also the place where she and Mike met, so particularly poignant for them. My Gran, who died at Christmas, had ‘We Are Family’ played at her service. No-one danced though it made us all smile: a perfect reflection of her personality. ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane’ would probably be an appropriate choice for Mum. If she doesn’t get her arse in gear, I might find myself suggesting the theme tune to Titanic or something equally hideous. Maybe I should write my list whilst I’m at it: there’s nothing like death to make you plan for the future.
In Loving Memory of Joyce Gooch, 1951-2011
Its a very good point – we should plan because it makes it easier for our families. Reminds me I must sort out our wills (haven’t had them updated since we married) and that sort of thing and have another chat with my parents to ensure I still know what they want and where the paperwork is (I’ve been their executor since I turned 18 what with them being overseas and my siblings being younger)
That’s your weekend sorted then Muddling 🙂
It’s hard thinking about your death but it’s when you attend funerals that you realise how much this sort of thing makes a difference. Good luck.