Meredith rang me yesterday. I was expecting news of Lyle, who was taken to hospital again by ambulance on Saturday morning. He was having trouble breathing, getting enough air, and couldn't get up from a lying position on the couch. He'd been trying to call Elvie or Meredith for half an hour but couldn't make them hear, even though they were in the next room and the door was open. You can't call out if you can't get enough air.
She said that dad had improved and they said at the hospital they thought he'd had another heart attack but they couldn't say for sure yet. They said that last time, but he hadn't. Then Meredith told me she really rang to tell me that Freda had died. Emerald Glades (Aged Care hostel) rang Meredith's husband Roger (Freda's GP) during the night and he had to go in to fill out the death certificate. Meredith went with him and waited outside the room. Ian, Freda's husband and good friend of mine, came out and saw her. Meredith said he gave her a big hug and held on for a long time. He said he'd had a cry and was feeling better for it, and that he was just so grateful to have had 62 years of married life with Freda. He said she was a wonderful wife and an exceptional cook before the Alzheimer's robbed her of her memory.
The last time I saw Freda, some months ago, she didn't know who I was. I'd heard through Ian that she could no longer walk and was wheel chair bound. The staff at the hostel had to wash her and dress her as it had become too much for Ian. My feeling at hearing the news was one of relief. Ian had had a very tough 2 years as the disease progressed and sold his house and moved into the hostel about a year ago, no longer able to cope by himself with the garden, the housework, and the care of Freda. He turns 90 next January. A finer man I've not met. Freda was 92.
I'll try to blog about Freda, and Ian, when I have more time. They are part of 'old Australia', a fast disappearing generation that remembers going to school on horseback and milking cows by hand.
