Today, my mother-in-law, Janice Aicken, died.
Janice has been unwell for months … years, really. But the last four months have been especially hard, a result of illness that brought forth the underlying issues. Eventually, they became just too much. Ultimately, she chose Medical Assistance In Dying (MAID).
It became a morning of “lasts”: A last sunrise. A last trip to the hospital. I brought her a last meal of lightly toasted bread and raspberry jam, with an oat milk cafe misto. We had last conversations, last reminisces. Last words.
It felt like a “normal” morning in the hospital until the doctor arrived. I can’t imagine how Janice felt, but I was silently screaming. I didn’t want her to go. I know she was suffering and there really was no hope for recovery, but … I wasn’t ready. Not that I think I ever would be.
A few moments later, and she was gone. Excepting for an open mouth and a complete lack of movement, she looked peaceful.
You often see obituaries where someone was “surrounded by family” and I genuinely wonder how true that is. In Janice’s case, there were seven of us: Alex and her sister Asinkwe, Monkey and Choo Choo, Janice’s brother Dugald and his wife Lynn, and me. I cannot praise my daughters enough for being present for something so difficult – they were not required to be there, they chose it. They were far braver than I was at their age.
Tears were shed. There was no bawling, no loud crying. Very few words. The medical staff left us alone for a while.
My daughters tended over Janice, brushing her hair and holding her hands like priestesses sending a pharaoh to the afterlife. I think I cried more for them than I did for losing Janice – they had lost the grandparent they knew best. If the saying “it takes a village to raise a child”, then Janice was our Matron.
It was an hour before we finally slipped out the doors and let the hospital staff conduct the next steps. It was a quiet drive home and a quiet evening.
Life will not be the same without Janice.
