Words from a Bird. Day 21
In a room filled with love, laughter and daft memories, my nanny left us today, gradually slipping away as we surrounded her with as much joy as we could muster.
It's a funny old game, dying. We have known this was coming for some time. In fact, over the last two and a half years, Nanny has been playing the 'Will she? Won't she?' game, in an attempt to discredit the entire medical profession. This time, however, we all knew there would be no 'Get out of Jail' card for her, because the time for leaving was here.
It doesn't seem to matter that you know it's going to happen; every bit of rational argument tells you that this is it, there will be no miraculous recovery. But part of you, the part that's not quite ready to say goodbye, still hangs on, willing breath to follow breath as she sleeps.
So we sit around her quietening bed, drawing strength from each other, knowing that time is running out.
And then it does.