Sixth day, in the morning. Crisis last night but no news overnight after she'd been given more pain medication. Lynn has just headed over to the hospital and will call me when she gets there. Last night Mum's breathing was so slow I was sure she would die in the night.
Mum looks very young sometimes. All the wrinkles have gone and her skin is sometimes pink. I tell her that she's lovely and I sing to her and recite poetry, even though I knew she thought that was pretentious.
Terrible night's sleep, full of anxiety. We've been at the hospital with Mum since last Tuesday.
I've re-read Tigana and The Secret Garden and parts of A Grief Observed.
We're all very tired and the children are fractious and we are not patient enough with them.
We are all bathed in and floating on waves of prayer, which is probably preventing us from being worse.
I told Mum last night that I would see her tomorrow, or if I didn't, that I would see her in Narnia. Because I want to go farther up and farther in with her, to Aslan's country, at the end.