Time

You never had time to lose your hair.

A lump, we’ll shrink it! Ah – it’s damaged your nerves so you can’t walk very well – soorr-yy. And yeah, the lump’s aggressive and you’re old so…well, just get your will in order.

Oh. No. Longer. Please.

Just need to get you home, in your own home, oh thank god at last we can get you home. But you can’t really walk and – Oh. Oh dear. You can’t walk at all. Bed. Commode. Living room. In your own home.

Loving family, such a loving family. Sidle into the kitchen when the carers come. Strip you. Change you. This cream will stop you getting sore. We can’t do that. We can’t do it.

Gather round your bed. The heat, the smell. No Mum, you’re imagining it.

Maybe. No. Just…whisper it. Don’t even think it but…maybe not that much longer, actually.

Ohhh, but she’s had a good innings, great life, travelled, so much love, friends.

Yeah. She has.

Still scared of dying. Lying in bed looking out the window. Imaging not existing. Imagine not existing. Imagine.

Nothing.

I’ll think of you. I’ll stop being shit and ungrateful and tell my son all about you, that you used to talk to strangers in queues and I hated it but I get it now. You were just happy. You were happy.

I must be happy.