Friday July 9th

Day 80

The lavender bushes at the allotment are wide waving fans of such deep rich purple they look as if they’ve been sprayed with paint.

Lavender and my mother are forever entwined in my mind. At her funeral we carried bunches of it tied with mauve ribbon - and sweet peas, and roses from my sister’s garden.

It was tonight two years ago that we got the phone call from the home.

“ Come now, and bring your father.”

He stayed as long as he could. My sister took him back when it was late.

I laid my head on the edge of her pillow. And listened to her breathing, crackly in her chest. Louder than the hiss of the air mattress rising up under her. Much later, just before dawn she opened her eyes, looked up and frowned a little. Closed her eyes again and breathed out. For the last time.

For a little while, before the carer came in, it was just me and my mother. The bed still hissing in the quietness of her not breathing. I felt the lucky one, wrapped in wonder.

Then I phoned my family.