Chapter 10

WHEN Kathleen got seriously ill she often enquired about her father and if his whereabouts could be discovered. "My daddy never cared about me,” she said, “but if he hears I'm sick he might come and see me now."

On making enquiries I found that after placing Kathleen in the orphanage he drifted to England where he probably married again. It would be difficult to discover where he lived, and after a while, she ceased to ask for him.

But a new and stronger longing came to her, and that was for a mother's embrace before she died. Some memory of her babyhood days filled her mind and a picture of herself in her mother's arms which had been hidden in her subconscious mind came to life, a longing for a mother's embrace became so strong that she told me about it.

The woman who made the jelly for her agreed to go out and do what she could. She was a young woman with a family, so she understood the mentality of a child. A few evenings afterwards we arrived. She stood at the foot of the bed and for the first time Kathleen saw what a mother was like, and her eyes opened in amazement that a mother could be so young. She had associated the picture of a mother with that of her grandmother who was old and feeble.

During her short life she had met only nuns, nurses and patients, and for the first time she was seeing what the mother of a family was like. Kathleen was propped up in bed and the woman sat on the bed near her and she noticed that the child crept nearer until her hands were on the arms of the woman, rubbing and caressing them. Then suddenly with a bear’s hug she was in the arms of the woman, quivering and shaking and shivering at first, then finally she lay quiet and still. Coaxingly and soothingly the woman spoke all the baby talk she could remember to Kathleen. The other patients left the ward with tears running down their cheeks.

The child's mind went back through the years once more to her home in faraway Scotland with her mother's arms around her. At last the woman loosened the child's arms that were round her neck and laid the child back on the bed. The craving for a mother's embrace was satisfied.

During September 1947 her pains increased because the bacilli, in depriving her bones of calcium, of which she always had a deficiency, made her bones so brittle that nobody could grip her hand for fear of breaking her fingers. And the patients were warned not to lift her or move her in the bed for fear of dislocating her shoulders if they moved her too quickly. This order was difficult to carry out because Kathleen often asked a patient passing by to settle her in the bed or arrange a pillow for her.

On one occasion when I went out I found a nurse hovering round Kathleen's ward. Her face brightened when she saw me. "Stay with her,” she urged, "there are visitors from Achill Sound in another ward and they may come to see her. On no account let any of them shake hands with her. The least grip will break her fingers or her wrist. I must rush, there are some bad patients in the men's ward.” Luckily the visitors were so depressed by the atmosphere of the place that they left as soon as possible, without calling to see her.

But during these weeks she was buoyed up with the idea of her 13th birthday. She often said to me in a coaxing way I knew so well, "The 13th is my birthday, sure you won’t forget". The schoolboys again subscribed, and for her birthday she got a cardigan with glass buttons, handkerchiefs and blue ribbons. The nurses gave her an embroidered jumper, and the patients supplied the eatables and minerals. The woman who provided the jelly had a large iced birthday cake made for her, with 13 candles on it.

She was propped up with the bed-rest and pillows when her presents were given to her, and as she was handed each one her eyes got bigger and bigger, and all she could mutter was, ”Oh!, Oh!” The tears came into her eyes as they did on Christmas Eve when she got her first presents, tears of happiness that people were so nice and kind to her.

Then a car drew up outside, laden with presents from some townspeople. As she viewed all the presents piled up around the bed she could only mutter in wonder, "How did all these people know that it was my birthday?” Another birthday cake came unexpectedly, sent in by a large shop owner in town.

The thirteen candles were lighted, and a nurse asked Kathleen to blow them out. That was an unfortunate error. She blew out three and her breath got caught. Her face turned red and tears rolled down her cheeks. She fought desperately to get what little portion of lungs she had to work, but only choking sounds came as she tried to draw her breath. Still, she strove bravely, but we could see her slowly choking to death in front of our eyes. The patients quickly left and remained in the next ward. I could see by the face of the Matron and the nurses that it was serious, but I didn't know in reality they were anxious about the state of her heart.

In her struggle to get what remained of her lungs to work, she was putting too much strain on her heart, already weakened by impure blood. While one nurse held her wrist to watch the pulse the others held a hot water bottle to her heart. At last Kathleen succeeded in drawing her breath, and everyone was relieved.

Her face was sponged and dried, the patients returned and the feast went ahead. She did not eat anything, as she had not taken solid food for some time, but watched the others enjoying themselves. They sang for her, held an impromptu concert and ended by singing “Happy birthday to you.” And most of the time she fingered the cardigan with the glass buttons. She was anxious to put it on. It was the first birthday on which she had any celebrations, and also the last because three weeks afterwards she was enjoying herself in Heaven.