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Just remember who the person was, not what they were at the end but what they were way
before that there you know? It’s a while since I read it. You forget about some of
the things in it you see. Well they told us more than anything else what to expect. We
loved Carlingford, always loved Carlingford. There was a special walk we went and it was
around Carlingford and away around the side. That’s the only one we went to you know?
With the Mourne mountains on one side and the Coolly mountains on the other, and it
was absolutely fantastic. She loved to get out even when the sun shone
and even when it didn’t she was always out and about. She met and had her picture taken
with the president of Ireland on one of her visits to the hospice. She was very proud
of that photo. Ann was a member of the local book club and loved the meetings every month.
She was always finishing the book before me; she would be chuffed with that. That’s what
everybody all remember, the smile. The biggest smile was always given to her grandchildren.
They never made any comment about her being in a wheelchair. She was their granny and
if she wanted to be in a wheelchair, well so be it.
The family had a DVD made and all her friends made a short video; they were from America,
England and Ireland. Ann said it was the best birthday party she ever had. That was on April;
April the 9th that was her birthday. Another couple of months and she was gone.
She said all she wanted to know what was wrong with her. She wrote in her diary, “My whole
life changed completely.” Slowly at first but more rapidly the disease
took its toll on Ann and in the end her body could no longer cope with the ravages of MND.
I didn’t know she was dying, I thought there would be tonnes more time. It was my son Danny,
he noticed. He told us that she wouldn’t last the weekend.
On Friday 17th September as we all sat around her bed she signalled her son Danny that she
wanted something written on the whiteboard. The words were, “I love you all.”
Ann died the next morning on 18th September 2010, 18 months to the day she had been diagnosed.
She died peacefully at home with her family by her side. On the day she died, I went outside
to the garden. There was something on her favourite rosebush; a single red rose had
bloomed. That was our Ann.