On Monday night, I got a phone call telling me my mother had been hospitalised, suffering from a mystery ailment that was manifesting basically as extreme terror and existential dread. I’ve been at her bedside almost constantly from Tuesday afternoon (I was in Dublin on Monday) since then, barring a few brief breaks for sleep and other necessessities. Currently, she’s still in hospital, and will probably remain there for a few weeks. The diagnosis is a combination of existing lung problems plus pneumonia leading to delirium. She’s improving, although it’s going to be a slow process.
It has, oddly, been the best week of my life, or one of the best anyway.
I’m alive, she’s alive, life is good.
I’ll write more when I have time. I’ve a lot to do right now, in every way.