I recorded the last conversation I had with my Nana before she died. But I don’t think I’ll ever listen to it again.
You know when people propose the question:
‘If you only had one more chance to speak to a loved one, what would you ask them?’
Well I was thrown into that unprepared.
Dad’s side of my family live up in Queensland, so on a trip during the last SportsGrad Meetups, I went with Dad to visit Nana and Grandad in Boonah.
I’d been warned Nana’s state was deteriorating, but I wasn’t expecting to find out on this visit she was about to pass away.
While we gathered around Nana in her room at the nursing home, my Aunty Cheryl was speaking in sibling code with Dad.
Aunty Cheryl had been the primary caregiver for Nana, and had an update on her condition.
All of a sudden, they left the room.
When they returned, Dad then asked if I could step outside.
Holding back tears he said
“Reuben this is probably going to be the last time you’ll see Nana.”
“Cheryl’s just told me her body is deteriorating quickly and she’s got 3 to 14 days to live.”
I grabbed Dad and gave him a hug.
He didn’t expect to come here and find out his Mum was about to die.
We walked back in, where Nana began to ask what was going on.
She still had her senses about her.
Cheryl, Dad and Grandad then had to leave to discuss the logistics of it all.
Leaving me with about 40 minutes to chat to Nana.
The final 40 minutes I’d ever get.
Knowing how potentially special this could be, I started a voice memo on my phone and began to ask her a few questions about her life.
It began ok…
“You were the baby of the year, Reuben”
But I quickly realised, this wasn’t the moment to collect anecdotes.
This was a person at the end of their life, confused by conversations about her, and frustrated by her remaining function.
A nurse came in and dropped off her food. I agreed to help feed her.
“This is terrible” she said with every mouthful of her thickened, vegetable soup. But she ate some more.
She tried the ice cream “that’s awful”
She continued to go back again and again, well aware of what would happen if she didn’t eat.
“What have they done to my food?!”
She would remark, in between coughing and spluttering as she struggled to down her puree meal.
But her actions contrasted her reviews.
This was a woman desperate to stay alive.
The final 40 minutes I had with Nana were not what I expected. I thought perhaps a routine visit with a few life updates.
Instead I grabbed one last photo with Nana before leaving, kissed her on the head, and said goodbye.
I had jumped into ‘memory interview mode’, but that’s what I should have done years ago.
I was too late to ask the questions I’d always wanted.
Instead, it was the worst condition I’d seen Nana in.
And so I’m not going listen to my voice memo again, because I don’t want to ingrain that final memory of her.
I want to remember her at her best, I just wish I’d known to capture them when I had the chance.
