I called in on Ma at 11. She was lying in bed with her eyes open as though waiting for me. I had to go in three or four more times before she came into the house. I had to tell her what to wear, what to put in the wash, help her with her hearing aids, brush her hair, do up her shoe laces, tell her to brush her teeth and wash her face. I then made a call to a carers organisation. I was already on their books. I had made equiries a year ago. Ma wasn’t ready then and nor was I but I think we have got to that point now.
I took her out for a cappuccino. She said that she had difficulty moving from one stage to the next. I asked what she meant. She said from being old to dying. She didn’t know what to do or how to do it. I did my utmost not to cry. I just concentrated on everything around us, tears brimming in my eyes. It’s like that, as soon as I think she might be dying I don’t want her to. And vice versa.