Janet Wendy's death

Janet Wendy Last, born 85 years ago in Christchurch New Zealand as Janet Margaret Wendelken, died peacefully on Monday November 15 at about 2 pm. Her death was gentle and calm: she had been slipping in and out of rather deep unconsciousness to a more wakeful state in which she could squeeze my fingers very gently and even from time to time open her eyes and look about her at her assembled family, Rebecca, David, Jonathan, Rebecca's husband Richard and David's first wife Dorothyanne and his second wife Desre. She tried to speak to me several times, I think to say 'Goodbye' which is more or less what I whispered to her. Almost everybody present, even the excellent nurse who gave her occasional medication, had tears in their eyes. I was too full of emotions and memories of our lives together to feel able to cry, and that's my loss I suppose - but I know the floodgates will burst sooner or later and I will release those pent-up signs of strong feelings.

Wendy's last few days went exactly as Louise Coulombe said they would, very quickly after the long, slow progress of the disease. About the middle of last week she said she felt too tired to be bothered getting up and dressed; by Thursday for the first time her legs were too weak for her to use the walker to get from our bedroom to the power wheelchair on the far side of our living-room, so we used the transfer wheelchair. Then when she sat in the power wheel chair, tilted far back so her eyes could focus on the TV screen where most evenings she watched an episode or two of one of her favorite BBC TV programs that we have on DVD (usually the long-running As Time Goes By) she dozed or slept, was not interested in the small domestic follies and pleasures of Lionel and Jean and the other characters whom she regards as old friends. By Saturday it was clear to me that she was dying, and we began 24/7 nursing. She remained comatose from then on, with brief spells when her eyes opened and once or twice she tried to say something but her powerless voice muscles frustrated those transient efforts. But as I sat by her bedside holding her hand there were responsive squeezes and I know she was communicating with me, as I was with her, signals of love and innumerable memories. Despite occasional misunderstandings about requests for suction, the fan, a rug over her knees or a mouth-moistening pad, she and I had over the years developed some sort of telepathic or extrasensory way to communicate important things.

All of us gathered here Monday morning: Rebecca, Richard, David, Desre, Dorothyanne, Jonathan,taking turns holding her hand, engaging intermittently in irrelevant and rather light-hearted conversations. By mid-morning her imminent death was obvious. She had Cheyne-Stokes respiration, alternating runs of shallow breaths and no breaths; her fingers were blue and ice-cold. The nurse kept her as comfortable as possible. Finally she slipped out of this life about 2 pm.

From the beginning it was a gentle, painless process. The saddest, most frustrating aspect was Wendy's loss of the power of speech. She was always such a warm-hearted lady, communicating her feelings for others so aptly, it was a cruel fate to have that power taken from her.

We have so many shared happy memories, so much to be thankful for, that the pain of losing her has been softened by these memories.