‘I think I’ve only got days left.’ And she looked like that. More than half dead. Tiny. Fragile. Stricken. ‘I feel utterly rotten.’ Too old, too sore, too incapable. I felt the wave of grief and sadness engulf me. It’s sudden and swamping and I don’t want to drown in it. I’m brisk, fighting hard against this current. ‘Ma, what’s going on? What do you mean? Can’t you stand up straight?’
‘I was dreaming of R. That’s why I didn’t want to get up. He was reading the newspaper and talking to me. We were in Scotland.’ Re-living a gentle afternoon in their beautiful home by the sea. Her smile brought tears to my eyes.
She’s been weak all day and I’ve been pushy around her. But tonight I softened and asked if she was afraid. She fell asleep in front of the TV. I see that death might snatch her away. She said she wasn’t afraid but she was hesitant and admitted she was a little. I told her to keep her emergency button near by just in case she needed it in the night. She says she finds it difficult to breath sometimes.
We are on a roller coaster.