Wife tells of Murray Ball’s long goodbye
Murray Ball had slipped away long before he died.
The man who created Footrot Flats had suffered a lengthy battle with Alzheimer’s before he died earlier this month. Speaking for the first time since his death, Pam Ball – his wife of 53 years – said it was a decade-long goodbye.
The first sign anything was wrong with the father, farmer and All Black trialist came in an innocuous moment 12 years ago, Pam said.
‘‘Murray was like a homing pigeon, he could always find [his way] around anywhere. I was always the one who got lost, and he would tell me where to go,’’ she said.
‘‘We were in holiday in Sicily about 12 years ago, and were in Syracuse Square. Murray swore blind the hotel was in one corner of the square, and I said: ‘No, it’s not, Murray, it’s in the other corner.’
‘‘I was generally wrong, so I went with him. We went there and the hotel wasn’t there. I thought, that’s strange, he always knows where things are. Looking back, that was the first thing which was noticeably not right.’’
Slowly but surely, the knowns became the unknowns for Murray.
‘‘Over the next few years, strange things were happening. He couldn’t put anything away in the kitchen in the right drawers,’’ she said.
‘‘He couldn’t find his way to town. We went to Farmlands every Saturday and he would say: ‘Where is Farmlands?’ I would say: ‘You know where Farmlands is.’ He would say: ‘No, I don’t.’ ’’
The couple saw a specialist who indicated ‘‘something was developing’’ and it would likely get worse. A fog was descending on Murray’s mind, and getting thicker every week.
‘‘He would go out on the farm and not return. I would go up there and he would be sitting on the grass and couldn’t get up. I have been up there with a torch at night looking for him, I would always find him and the dog would always be near him.
‘‘It was a worry. It was day by day by day, being aware of the little changes in Murray.’’
Pam said she eventually lost count of the times Murray would wander off, unable to find his way back to her. ‘‘He would often say to me’’ ‘Where did you get to?’ ’’
Three years ago, Pam made the decision to get care for Murray.
His ability to walk was diminishing, his speech had ceased, and the hands that had captured a culture could draw no more.
‘‘There came a time when he couldn’t hold a pencil, he would sometimes trace with his finger on the table next to him. I think that was his drawing instinct still there.’’
Pam didn’t want Murray to go into a rest home, so made the decision he would stay at their Gisborne home. ‘‘In all of this, he had awareness. He loved TV. He would sit and watch a rugby match, he probably didn’t know who was playing, but you could tell he was enjoying it. He loved the haka, anything loud and stirring. ‘‘He loved all the old movies. I have worn out two copies of The Sound Of Music because he loved it so much.’’ At night, Murray would read cartoons in bed and listen to his favourite music. At times, he would read his own. ‘‘His signature was on the outside of the book, and I would say: ‘Who is that?’ Of course, he couldn’t answer, but I would say: ‘That’s you.’ I am not sure if he knew they were his. Maybe he did.’’
Murray never said goodbye or talked much about his illness while he could, Pam said. He didn’t want it to happen but he quietly accepted it.
‘‘I didn’t know when he was going to die, but the man I knew was disappearing in front of my eyes over all those years.
‘‘He was becoming someone else. He was a lovely man in his own way, whatever state he was in, but he was not the argumentative, talkative, fun man he was 10 years ago. I had to come to terms with that. I was looking after a very sick person.
‘‘The grieving has been going on for years.’’
Weeks before he passed away, Murray went into a deep sleep. The family were told to gather at his bedside.
‘‘We all stood around Murray’s bed, we thought he would die that night. About 10pm, he opened his eyes, sat up and looked at all of us. You could sort of see he was thinking: ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ It was quite a funny moment.
‘‘My daughter said: ‘Oh for goodness sake, Dad. Come on everybody, let’s go.’ It was like a dress rehearsal.’’
The final curtain came weeks later, when Murray stopped eating. Surrounded by his family at home, and nursed by his daughter, he faded away.
‘‘We all knew it was coming, but it was a moment of relief and sadness. He was just Murray. He was very humble, and I miss him so, so much.’’
‘‘There came a time when he couldn’t hold a pencil, he would sometimes trace with his finger on the table next to him. I think that was his drawing instinct still there.’’ Pam Ball, on husband Murray’s battle with Alzheimer’s