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Mum this week I became aware of your mortality.

Your second visit to Casualty by ambulance. The second phone message from Susi. The second time I rushed from work to see you lying in a hospital bed being looked after by nurses and doctors.

This time you looked frail and old. I saw you lying in the bed, a hospital gown on, a needle in both arms for the drips they were about to hook up. You looked around with scared doe like eyes at the hospital staff doing their job. The noises of an ER – phones ringing, equipment buzzing, people talking some quietly while others more loudly.

I watched as the doctor told you there were signs of another UTI, decrease in potassium and AF. They proceeded to give you the things you needed to get better. You didn’t question you lay there at their mercy trusting in the care they were giving you.

Later, when they told us you would be admitted overnight I began to be more concerned. I didn’t want to leave you. What if something happened and I wasn’t there?

But nothing happened. You came home and we sat with you for a few hours in be sunshine talking about everything and nothing. You were a little confused and your thoughts jumped around from one topic to another.

Realising this might be the beginning of your movement into another stage of your life, I am confronted by my own mortality. I was born when you were 18 and now we are both in the autumn of our years, me at the beginning and you at the end.

Ron asked did I think you would live forever? HonestIy I never thought of you dying. I have never imagined a life of you not being here in my life.