Her side

I am deeply affected by that line of Captain Beefheart’s song Ashtray Heart – someone’s had too much to think.

In my constant grief of my Rosemary’s death on 9 December 2020 I realize that it was 6 years ago. I am going to be 84 at the end of this month. In six more years I doubt I will be around. People in their youth never understand that with age time becomes compressed.

And so lying on the bed a few days ago I thought of this. It involves beds.

In 1972 my mother died in bed in our Mexico City home in the presence of Rosemary and me. We heard her breathe in and then there was nothing. We could not find a doctor in the neighbourhood so a nearby veterinarian signed a provisional death certificate and told us what we knew, “Está muertita tu mama.”

In 1975 we sold our house for good money. We were to move to Vancouver. Rosemary decided to send all we owned (including salt, pepper and oil) by a moving van.

When we arrived we rented a little house in Burnaby.  One of the mattresses we had was a double. It never occurred to me then that it was the one were my mother had died.

When we moved from Kerrisdale to Kitsilano, Rosemary wanted a bed with a headboard. Be bought a very nice king-size one.

It was in that bed that Rosemary died. Six minutes before she did she asked, “Am I dying?” I was unable to answer.

On 12 May when I woke up, as usual my two cats, Niño and Niña were there, too. I touched Niño and he did not respond. When I looked at him his eyes did not focus. He may have died at the most an hour before because rigor mortis had not set in.

Now when I lie on the bed with Niña on my side, I wonder if she knows or understands. She was Rosemary’s cat. She stroked her on that bed.

She is 15. Who will go first and will this bed be one where it will happen?