9: Of Her Bodily Infirmities and Her Death
9
OF HER BODILY INFIRMITIES AND
HER DEATH
[Richard blends pastoral and medical objectivity with restrained personal heartache as he tells of Margaret’s last illness and death.]
Her diseased fearfulness and many former sicknesses I have mentioned before. A great pain of the head held her from her youth, two or three days every fortnight, or little more; and upon everything that did irritate the matter she had a constant constriction in the lungs, a great incapacity of much exercise, motion, or any heating thing. Ever since her sickness, 1659, she hath lived in an unwarranted fear of insanity, which greatly hurt her. It was because she had an aunt long so, deceased, and her parents were naturally passionate, and her spirits over-quick, and her blood thin and mobile, and though wisdom hid it from others in her converse, she felt the trouble of her own mind in things, as aforesaid, that much displeased her; and so lived in a constant fear, which tended to have brought on her what she feared. But her understanding was so far from failing that it was higher and clearer than other people’s, but, like the treble strings of a lute, strained up to the highest, sweet, but in continual danger. About three years ago, by the mispersuasion of a friend, drinking against the colic a spoonful of powdered ginger every morning near a quarter of a year together, and then falling into some overwhelming thoughts besides, it overthrew her head for a few days; but God, in great mercy, soon restored her.
Ever since that time her headache abated, and she complained of pain in one of her breasts, and her uncurable timorousness settled her in a mental condition that she should have a cancer (which I saw no cause to fear); but she could neither endure to hear that it was none, or that it was; but in fearing uncertainty, prepared constantly for a sad death. And several friends, neighbors, and relations lately dying of cancers increased her fear, but she seemed to be prepared cheerfully to undergo it.
The many and weekly rumors of plots, firings, and massacres, etc.42 much increased this fear, as is aforesaid; and the death of very many neighbors, young, strong, and excellent Christians, of greatest use and many near friends, did greatly add to her sadness and expectations of death. But little of this was seen to any; she purposely carried it pleasantly, and as merrily to others, when she was troubled.
The fears of a cancer made her take the waters for physic often, and she kept down her body so in her diet, that about five ounces of milk, or milk and water, with a little chocolate in it, morning and night, and about one or two bits [i.e., pieces of meat] at dinner was her diet for many years.
At last, about ten weeks before her sickness, almost all her pain went out of her breast, and all fixed in a constant pain upon the right kidney. She for several days drank Barnet waters; but I think they were the final contributing cause of her sickness, along with too much tincture of amber, which worked too powerfully on her brain and suddenly cast her into strong disturbance and delirium, in which, though the physicians, with great kindness and care, did omit nothing in their power, she died the twelfth day. She fell sick on Friday, June 3, 1681, and died June 14.
Though her understanding never perfectly returned, she had a very strong remembrance of the affecting passages of her life, from her childhood. Mrs. Corbet (whom she dearly loved, and had newly got into the house to be her companion), with others, standing by, she cried out to me, “My mother is in heaven, and Mr. Corbet is in heaven, and thou and I shall be in heaven.” And even in her last weakness she was persuaded of her salvation.
She oft showed us that her soul did work toward God, crying out (complaining of her head): “Lord, make me to know what I have done for which I undergo all this. Lord, I submit; God chooseth best for me.” She desired me to pray by her, and seemed quietly to join to the end. She heard diverse psalms, and a chapter read, and repeated part, and sung part of a psalm herself. The last words that she spoke were: “My God, help me! Lord, have mercy upon me!”
God had been so many years training her up under the expectation and preparations for death, as made the case of her soul less grievous to me, as no way doubting of her salvation; and knowing that a distracting fever or frenzy, or an inflammation or disturbance of the animal spirits or brain, or an abscess may befall the best as soon as the worst. I thank God that she was never under any melancholy which tempted her to any of those doleful evils, which many score, I think, that have been with me (of several ways of education) have been sadly tempted to.43 She near nineteen years lived with me, cheerful, wise, and a very useful life, in constant love and peace and concord, except our differing opinions about trivial occurrences, or our disputing or differing mode of talk.
She was buried on June 17 in Christ’s Church, in the ruins, in her own mother’s grave. The grave was the highest next the old altar, or table, in the chancel, on which this her daughter had caused a very fair, rich, large marble stone to be laid, Anno 1661, about twenty years ago; on which I caused to be written her titles and some Latin verses and these English ones:
Thus must thy flesh to silent dust descend,
Thy mirth and worldly pleasure thus will end:
Then happy, holy souls but woe to those
Who heaven forgot, and earthly pleasures chose:
Hear now this preaching grave without delay,
Believe, repent, and work while it is day.
But Christ’s church on earth is liable to those dangers of which the Jerusalem above is in no danger. In the doleful flames of London, 1666, the fall of the church broke this great marble all to pieces, and it proved no lasting monument: and I hope this paper monument erected by one that is following even at the door, in some passion indeed of love and grief, but in sincerity of truth, will be more publicly useful and durable than that marble stone was.