In the Midst of Life

by his bed.
    He was awakened by repeated banging on the front door. He staggered downstairs, unkempt, unshaven, and wrapped in a blanket. It was the district nurse.
    ‘What’s been happening? I tried to get in this morning. I saw your bike was here, but you didn’t answer, and I knocked and knocked.’
    ‘What time is it?’ His voice was slurred.
    ‘It’s four o’clock. I haven’t seen your mother for days. Has she been away with you?’
    ‘No. She has been here all the time.’
    ‘Well, I must see her now.’
    They went into the sitting room.
    ‘It’s bitterly cold in here. Hasn’t the poor old lady even got a fire? And it smells dreadful. Who has been looking after her? Where is your wife?’
    ‘My wife has gone to her mother’s and she’s not coming back.’
    ‘Not coming back? Oh dear, that won’t do. I will have to report that to my supervisor. The old lady can’t be left alone all day while you are at work. But I’m sure arrangements can be made to carefor her – Meals on Wheels, a home help – yes, there is a lot of support we can give you.’
    ‘I don’t want your bloody support! I want my wife and daughters. They’re not coming back, I tell you.’
    ‘There is no need to shout, young man. I heard you, and don’t use bad language to me!’
    ‘She will have to go into an old peoples’ home.’
    ‘That’s not so easy, as you well know. The Council Home is full, and your mother is on the waiting list. Have you tried private nursing homes?’
    ‘Yes, and they won’t take her. Each one we tried said she would be disruptive and would upset the other residents.’
    ‘Well, all I can do is organise as much home support as possible for her. Now, I must clean her colostomy. She’s in a dreadful mess, faecal discharge everywhere. When did you last attend to it?’
    ‘I can’t remember. A few days, perhaps…’
    Muttering words of disapproval, the nurse started work.
    ‘And what has she been eating recently, if your wife has not been here?’
    ‘I don’t know. Porridge, I suppose. She likes porridge.’
    ‘Well, it’s not good enough. We can’t allow her to live on porridge. Meals on Wheels will be arranged as an emergency, from tomorrow. And I advise you to light a fire, young man. It’s freezing in here.’
    Clucking her disapproval, the district nurse left.
    Slavek did not light a fire. He went to the pub and got blind drunk.
    Days passed, day after desolate day, and Slavek was utterly alone. Hatred and resentment built up inside him and he could hardly bring himself to go near his mother – stupid, useless old thing. Why hadn’t she died when she said she would, why was he stuck with her now, a miserable old bag of bones with no mind? Why couldn’t she just
die?
Every day, when he got home from work, he was hoping against hope to find her dead – but she wasn’t. She was always there, in Karen’s nice sitting room, where the childrenshould be playing by the fire, and having crumpets toasted on the red coals, and stories read to them before bedtime. Every evening he spent in the pub, drinking until closing time.
    Men in Slavek’s position – having lost wife and children, heartbroken, lonely, angry, frustrated, drinking more and more – can quickly spiral into a crisis from which they cannot escape. Self-neglect, repeatedly arriving late for work with a hangover, unreliability, led to warnings from the management, which were only half-heartedly observed, then ignored. Slavek was dismissed. He was too ashamed to tell Karen that he had been given the sack, so he drew his dole money, sent half to her, and spent the rest in the pub. He had never been a good manager; Karen had always handled the family finances. Perhaps he thought that he was doing enough by sending her money each week; perhaps his brain, fuddled by drink, refused to accept the inevitable consequences of the fact that no money was going into his bank account.
    In March he received a letter from the bank manager, saying that there was insufficient money in his account to pay his monthly obligation to the building society. Slavek ignored it. April brought a similar letter. He didn’t even open it. Each month a letter arrived, but was ignored.
    Karen knew nothing of all this. If she had, she would have done something about it. But by the time August came and Slavek was six months in arrears with the mortgage, the sum outstanding was so huge that there was nothing she could have done to rectify the