Her Dying - a Memory -

She had a stroke six weeks before and slept downstairs 'So they could keep an eye on her - my lovely grandmother, Elizabeth. I would whisper 'Granny, are you alright?' and be shushed out of the room. On December 12th, 1961 she was dying. They knelt around the bed and said the Rosary. May and Lizzie, their husbands and children, cousins and neighbours, droning their prayers. As she struggled to breathe: loud then slow and slowing, the candle flickered shadows on the wall. Sad faces, some old and lined, anticipating the arrival of the Monsignor - to give her Unction. They hoped that she would live until he arrived. 'She had a good life - a long life' they said 'Eighty-Seven years'. 'But some people live to be a hundred!' my thirteen year old self shouted back - My mother and the nurse laid her out on her big mahogany bed. 'The ritual gave me comfort' Mam said later - Best linens, starched and waiting for this time - her habit - a dress especially made for death Beads entwined in her dear fingers. These preparations a ceremony of love and care I wouldn't, couldn't look at her They did - I hated them for that.