ReadFin Literary Journal (Winter 2018)

never seen her do. I took $50 to make this strange situation a bit less
awkward, a bit less confronting. I put the remaining notes in her
purse. Her body resumed its resting state and it was time to leave.
We took it in turns to hug her goodbye, I whispered, ‘get better soon,
please.’ And she replied, ‘I hope I do.’ Before finally shutting her eyes
again.
We signed out of the building and made our way back to the car. The
icy breeze tore through me and before we got back into the car I said
to El, ‘give me a minute.’ I began to cry, unable to fight back the tears
which caught me by surprise. El’s eyebrows shot up and they walked
over and embraced me. My little sibling three inches taller than me
and holding me tight. They said, ‘it’s alright, Nic. I kinda forgot that
you haven’t really seen her like this yet.’
Not liking the attention and sympathy that tears bring, I composed
myself and we hauled ourselves into the car. I decided to drive the
long way home around Lake Wendouree. It was deathly quiet and the
skies were as grey as I always remembered them to be. Everything
felt slow. A black swan had waddled into the middle of the road, not
caring or noticing the cars. I slowed down and waited for it to cross. It
stopped dead in the middle of the road. El wound down her window
and shouted ‘MOVE IT, YA SWAN!’
This simple and ridiculous gesture turned my sadness into laughter.
We drove back home and the events that took place in the afternoon
that followed felt like a strange dream, and that I was merely
observing them all through a glass window. I had a cuppa with my
cousin and stared at the wall. Dad wanted me to take a photo of him
for his business website and he put on an old suit coat that he wore
when he was 20 kilos heavier. It struck me then how old he was and
how much he had shrunk, he looked like a kid playing dress ups. I felt
disconnected and sad again realising how much I missed because I
lived in another city. I went with friends for a beer at a pub we used to
frequent as 18 year olds, that one of my friends now owned. I caught
a V/Line home and listened to King Krule, my mind wandering
through a myriad of complex and simple thoughts that I could neither
hold onto or make sense of.
The next week I went through the motions.
The following Friday I was on a tram to meet a friend in Carlton for a
coffee. I got a call from Dad, which I knew would be ladled with bad
news, he never called out of the blue. He told me that Nan had been
given a week to live and she was on a lot of morphine, so at least she
wasn’t in pain anymore. I said I’d be down the following Tuesday
to say my goodbyes. We hung up and my head filled with images of
death, funerals, tears, loss, all of it, and I tried holding back the real
life tears. I met my friend at Heart Attack and Vine and instead of
coffee, we drank wine and lots of it.
The following day was Saturday, a usual working day for me. I told my
boss everything that had happened. I went on my break at 2, it was
a lovely, sunny day. I sat in the park and soaked up the sunshine on
my face, I closed my eyes and listened to the birds and the rustle of
leaves in the trees, the children laughing and shouting as they played.
Suddenly, Brig called. I answered and she was crying.
‘Nic I think you need to come back to Ballarat. Mum went to see Nan
and she’s not gonna make it through the night.’
I walked back to work in a daze and before I could even explain
the situation to my boss I cried. She pulled me in for a hug and
whispered, ‘it’s okay,’ three times into my ear. A customer looked on in
bewilderment.
For the third time in that week I caught a V/Line.
Brig picked me up from the station. It was awful outside – cold,
rainy and windy. She drove me to Nazareth House and explained
the situation. Mum was at home cooking everyone food. Lucy had
gone back home to shower to settle in for a night by Nan’s side. Nan
was sleeping, still on her heroic dose of morphine and pain free. Brig
just dropped me off – not wanting to come inside again. My heart
thumped as I entered the building, I signed my name into the visitors
book and made my way down the dark and dimly lit hallway. I’d never
been here in the evening before. I knocked on the door that said,
‘Sheila.’ I entered nervously and found Dad and El sitting in there
quietly, with only a lamp on. I hugged them both said to Nan, ‘Hey it’s
Nicola, I’m here to visit.’
She was lying in bed on her back. Her mouth was parted and her
breathing was haggard and loud. Her eyes were sunken in her head
and slightly open, revealing the brown of her irises.
I sat and we all talked softly, as if none of what was happening was
really taking place. Mum soon arrived with dinner for everyone and
some lavender oil to sprinkle over Nan’s chest, her favourite scent.
Lucy arrived shortly after that, bringing in Brig with her and we all
sat around the bed. I studied Nan’s face, not saying much, letting my
mind wander back to old memories; at the beach, at her house, at the
movies, of her patience.
Then it was time for everyone except Dad and Lucy to leave. We all
took our turn to hug her and say goodbye, to say ‘I love you’ for the last
time.
Brig, El, and I picked up a bottle of vodka on our way home. At the
kitchen bench we made drinks and played card games The three of us
back together again – sisters – like we always were as kids. Brig and I
smoked a couple of cones with some foraged weed from the bottom of
her bag. She also supplied us with some Valium. We talked non-stop
about everything. We got drunk and danced in the kitchen, El lay
on the ground with the dogs. It hit 2am and we all passed out in our
respective sleeping places.
I woke at 8 to Brig at the door and a cat purring by my head. I was dry
mouthed and exhausted. I couldn’t see Brig’s face, the day lit behind
her.
‘Nic it’s happened. She passed away this morning at 7:35,’ she said.
‘Oh... shit,’ I responded. A conversation I barely remember ensued.
I slept again. I woke again. Completely disoriented. I texted a few
people. Dad called me and repeated the news. I asked if he was okay,
he said he was but I could hear something in his voice I’d never heard
before. I got into bed with El. We lay together in silence. We were both
so tired.
It was a truly miserable day outside and at 4pm I caught the train back
to Melbourne. I wrote on the train and took many breaks to stare out
the window at the green scenery and dark clouds. I tried to read but
found it hard to concentrate on the words. At home I took a bath and
let sadness and grief descend on me. I lay in the water until it grew
cold and my fingers looked like prunes. In bed, exhaustion hit me
like a sledgehammer and I passed out, grateful to stop thinking for a
while.
On Nan’s 70th birthday I was five. She had a party at her flat with
extended members of family invited. My parents gifted her an insane
candle, it was tall, in the shape of a star and multi-coloured. The most
‘90s candle I can think of, the colours reminding me of the opening
scene for Art Attack. I was obsessed with this candle. I asked Nan over
and over again to light it, to which she would respond, ‘I’ll light it on
my 80th!’
Well I began to count down the days. The candle sat in her living
room next to the heater and I would always make a point of bringing
it into the conversation on those Sunday afternoon tea sessions.
But by the time her 80th rolled around, she cheekily declared that the
candle would now be lit on her 90th birthday. When Nan moved into
Nazareth House she told Lucy that the candle was for me. I proudly,
and sadly, kept it in my bedroom. Last year she would have turned 90,
so on her birthday I sat with my friend Lauren drinking whiskey. We
lit the candle and watched it burn.
ReadFin Literary Journal 65