David Perrott - Warwick, England, 1916 - 2008

David died peacefully this morning in Warwick hospital. He was 92 and full of years. Our final memory is of a man peacefully sleeping and slipping away. We need our beliefs in an afterlife at these times. Life seems such a short time in relation to eternity. All actions that are done with love have eternal value. David certainly loved. The minister from St Paul's in Warwick said that he always remembered him with a smile on his face. After his heart operation two years ago he was grateful for every day on this earth. They were all a bonus. We all have stories of him, his kindness and generosity, his willingness to hold possessions lightly, his interest in and recognition of everyone he met, his mischievous humour, his stubbornness that kept him alive. Even in hospital it was not possible to feed him or find a vein to replace the drip that had to be removed. Perhaps the medical books need to be revised. They say that a human being can survive for only three days without water. David survived 11 days without food and 7 days without water. When we returned to his flat my sister Liz offered me his pot of vitamins. I hunted through his cupboards and found calcium with vitamin D, garlic capsules, fish oils, Senior ABC vitamins, selenium, glucosamine, joint complex. No wonder he passed away so with grace and dignity. His body will decay very slowly in the mortuary.  Thanks Dad for being such a great example. You knew how to love life and when to let go. You gave everyone who wanted to say goodbye a chance to see you. We all loved you. One of my daughters said tonight that you were the greatest grandad she could have; you were the greatest dad too.

John Perrott

Understanding stroke

David Perrott - coming to terms with dying

The last two weeks my family have been coming to terms with my father dying. He is 92. His philosophy of life included maintaining his independence, keeping himself out of debt, accepting what happened to him in life; knowing that something good always comes out of something bad. He was wise in his advice. One of his grandchildren Zoe, asked his opinion about a boyfriend of hers. He was seventeen years older than Zoe. Dad said that when it came to long term relationships or marriage you had to think about the later part of life not just the early part when you are, "In love". Many men died sooner than women. If you choose someone much older the likelihood is that that you are choosing to spend much of your later life on your own; unless of course you are fortunate to meet another companion. You needed to share your values. Zoe asked her boyfriend what were his moral values. what mattered the most to him. He replied that being successful and having money were the most important. Those are not uncommon values. She simply did not share them, so they decided to split up. 

He had a couple of falls in the last two months. Old people do fall and stumble. In dad's case it was possibly a minor stroke. There are two kinds of stroke and ischaemic one and a haemorrhage. Ischaemic strokes suddenly cut the blood supply to part of the brain. They are caused by small blood clots. A haemorrhage is a bleed into the brain. Even aspirin or sodium diclofenac gave dad nose bleeds so he was more susceptible to bleeds. In hospital he was bright, cheerful and optimistic. A nurse said that she remembered him from two years ago when he had a heart operation. she said that he was a real gentleman. He had another fall the night before he was due to leave. This time a massive bleed pushed his brain over to the side. he completely lost consciousness for days. the pupils of his eyes were pinpricks. That was 8 days ago. It was almost impossible to find a vein to bring fluids into his body. On Christmas Eve I spoke to him as we did every day. I told him about one of his grandchildren going for ski lessons at Milton Keynes Xscape building. He opened one eye, looked at me and smiled a broad grin. Now you can see his eyes move if you gently lift his eyelids. Every day he is weaker and more dehydrated. His breathing is laboured. But there is nothing else much wrong with him. The hardest part is knowing what he wanted out of life and respecting those wishes. To him the ability to walk was an essential part of his independence. he kept his own flat, washed his own clothes, pulled his shoes on with a pair of pliers, did up his buttons and tie with a piece of wire, replaced light bulbs, made minor repairs and modifications to his flat. The great thing that we met was his kindness. He collected the papers for the flats in his block. He called in every day to see his friend Brenda. Her grip was weak and his was strong. He opened the car door. she drove the car. That got them to Probus, Masonic functions, the shops, Recorded music society, National Trust retirement fellowships and a few years ago; trips to National Trust properties. 

Now we are faced with Dad as he is; in his present condition. He has not eaten for 9 days. He has had no water intake for 5 days. It is not possible to insert a needle into his veins. They are too difficult to find. Yet he is still alive. During the war he commanded 450 men in the signals. They laid copper cabling from Calcutta to Rangoon fighting in the Burmese jungle under Japanese occupation. He is used to deprivation. The dilemma of dying is not how the person copes. It is how the relatives cope. We put on a brave face, a practical face, an emotional face, a nostalgic face but the people who express the pain and grief are those who are left behind. 

Dad learned the precious lesson of letting go when his wife Betty died. She tried to control his decisions in many ways. The relationship was closely interdependent. Even though she died of an "accidental aortic aneurysism" she knew roughly when she was going to die. She was so precise about it that she tied the house, cleared the loft and designated some of her possessions. She knew that she was not going to see in the millenium. Dad even found a note under the Christmas pudding with instructions on how to cook it. Soon after she died he cleared his own possessions, sold what he could and gave away the rest. He bought a McCarthy and Stone retirement flat in Warwick with no garden to maintain and moved in. His time of freedom to make choices had come so he made them. Picking up her social calendar he enlarged his own horizons. Off he went on coach trips around the country. He even went off to the British Virgin Islands to give away a young bride of much loved relatives. 

When we get married we exchange one kind of freedom for another. Before we had the choice of what to do at weekends, where to go on holiday, how to keep our house or flat, where to spend our money. Once we are married we enter a new kind of debt; the debt of loving and being loved in a possessive way. Before we could "go out with our friends" and come home not entirely sure how we got there. Now there is someone waiting, watching the clock, listening for the door to open. To the person who strives for "freedom" that kind of love seems to be a tie. Yet we enjoy the benefits of love when they are freely given. In dad's struggle to maintain his independence there is one thing that he could not take, the need for others to control him. He had faced in for his married life and he was not going to give in again. You could have called him stubborn, perhaps he was, but it was that very stubbornness that kept him alive.