The last lap.
Ma has a heart murmur and says she can’t breathe properly so we’re going to have it checked out tomorrow at the hospital. I thought it was stress related but D thinks it does need to be investigated. The last two days Ma has gone back to bed after breakfast as she is so exhausted.
I was flicking through an art magazine and said, ‘If you see anything in here that you would like to go and see just tell me and we’ll go.’ She said, ‘You don’t understand. I’m on my last lap.’ I was taken aback. I think there’s nothing wrong with her body, it’s her mind that is the problem, but now I wonder if I am right and it frightens me. I know she wants to die but I’m afraid. I know that everywhere I go her ghost will be with me, I will be wracked with guilt " all the bad things I said, all the things I didn’t do with her, the time I didn’t make for her, knowing how terribly lonely and forlorn she is. It’s all there, in the path she has trodden alone around the garden.