Friday Review

For those who would like to know more about Marika's quite beautiful passing over, please read. If you feel that it will be upsetting to you, wait for the next posting that will cover more practical things. We are starting to surface and will slowly be taking phone calls, though it may take us time to return messages.


On Friday, Marika's breathing was quite pronounced - one might say she was snoring. She was completely unconscious, eyes not opening at all. Her breathing was quite rapid, and our dear Doctor Wilde from Hebden Bridge came in and said that she was very peaceful and that with these changes she couldn't continue much longer. This true gentleman's serene and compassionate bedside manner made it easier for us to take the news.

At about a quarter to five pm, we all got the feeling that we wanted no visitors. We put a sign on the door to that effect and pulled the door to. Mum's breathing was changing a lot, getting shallower but still fast. Her feet got quite cold, and her hands were losing their warmth. Vicky, Dad, and Mark got closer to the bed and were all holding a hand, or touching her face. At 5:30, the phone rang - not exactly what we wanted... but it was Gyongyi on the line from Montreal, and we then realized how perfect this was. We told her the time was close, and held the phone up to Mum's ear so she could hear her sister speak to her; we then told Gyongyi to stay on the line and we put the phone on Mum's chest. Marika then took a few more spaced breaths and then simply stopped.

There was an unreal quality to the fact that what had happened had happened. Gyongyi's magnificent timing made it all seem so perfectly planned - she had raced home with the urgent feeling that she needed to call as soon as possible. Gyongyi and Marika's mother had saved them in the war by instinctively knowing to leave a building that was to about be bombed. Demonstrating more of that intuition, Dad had earlier in the week made a comment that 'no one can tell us it will happen at 5:24 on a Friday' - it in fact happened at 5:34 on Friday.

We had a good few cries and stayed with her for a period before we alerted the staff, who were very compassionate and supportive, telling us to take as much time as we wanted. We stayed for a bit but then decided to do what was inevitable and start cleaning the room, removing the dozens of cards and the pieces of Mum's art that had set the tone for her space.

For the past few days, I could not reconcile myself that the body in front of me was my mother - she did not have her character or her lifeforce in it. I still gave her a goodbye kiss, as we all did, but felt that virtual hugs would be more abundant and forthcoming.

She was unbelievably tough to hang on as long as she did - everyone who knew her knows she was a tough cookie. But when it was time to let go, she did, surrounded by her immediate family. We are so sad to have her leave us but so grateful that her suffering doesn't need to go on, and that in fact at the end she was not suffering. She had been in far more pain when fighting the symptoms of the chemo - what landed her in hospital to begin with - and she recovered amazingly well from that process. Her bravery there was particularly noticeable - the symptoms were so horrific that I doubted whether I could have dealt with it with a fraction of her grace and fortitude.

Thank you all for being part of the journey. We have all appreciated your comments and good wishes, your contributions and kindness.