Goodbye, Auntie Pauline

noodleWed 30/04/08 12:24

Sorry guys, a sad topic for the afternoon!

I just heard that the last of my maternal Grandma's generation - my Great-Aunt, Pauline - died today. She was 83.

She came from a large family originally hailing from Ireland; a heritage I am very proud to be part of.

Auntie Pauline raised her daughter, Philomena, on her own. Phil suffers from Schizophrenia and is in now a care home, not fully capable of being self-sufficient. As such, my Mum, Aunt and their cousin have been appointed as executors.

I guess the reason for this thread is to say how immensely proud I am of these three women for their strength and courage over the last year.

They visited Auntie Pauline and Phil and made sure they were looked after. Auntie Pauline suffered from Alzheimers during this period and as much as it pained them that Auntie Pauline didn't quite understand what was happening, they had her put in a care home. She was unable to look after herself. Filthy pots, pans and cups lined the kitchen counter. Cleaned tins of food were also stacked high - this is all she was eating from.

Her condition deteriorated; the last time I saw her a week or so ago, she was nought but a frail, skeletal old woman lying helpless in a hospital bed. She was in a shared ward and surrounded by a stench presumably from another patient being changed in the next bed. It seemed so undignified. It was all I could do not to fall to pieces as Mum looked into Auntie Pauline's big, blue eyes, stroking her hair, only to be met with a vacant stare. Mum was so strong, holding her hand and speaking to her softly. Her eyes welled but she wouldn't let Auntie Pauline see her heartbreak.

Now her suffering has ended, and she leaves behind a daughter who may or may not cope with her death. It is down to my Mum, aunt and their cousin to take care of her welfare, speaking to her every week as they have done this past year. Funeral arrangements will need to be made as well as handling Auntie Pauline's estate. All three have families and lives of their own.

The sad thing is I now dread the possibility of the same situation falling to me in the future. It makes me feel selfish for feeling this. Of course I'll be there for them, but I doubt my strength. Mum has been through some very difficult times but got admirably through them all. Sometimes I want to clout her when she says she feels unconfident in life. My god, she has no idea!

I've always followed the philosophy that the wise man accepts he doesn't know everything, that there is so much more to learn in life. But you can't help feeling you've happily reached a stage of maturity, only to have something new and unsettling flung at you.

I am grateful that I have been more an observer and got to learn from this experience and utterly sympathise with anyone who has had to care for anyone who has suffered from this debilitating condition.

It's at times like this that we realise how invaluable family and friends are, and how warming it is to know that we all look out for each other when we really need their help.

I shall be raising a glass to Auntie Pauline tonight and remembering how lucky I am to have such a lovely family and group of friends.