Her room is not as sparse as it was; there are photos and gifts of a tin butterfly and a ceramic guardian angel that I hung on the wall yesterday.
Chattering away to her, there are seemingly confusing flights of fancy that she tries with us (she has had a brain injury so this is understandable), but we talk her down and remind her that she’s still here and she needs to fight. The fight and feistiness is still there, albeit muted, but something was stirring within. She barked at us she wants to see her own GP, she wants to know what’s going to happen next. She wants to go home. And we all feel sad because her home is for sale and she doesn’t know. A guilty silence falls between us, she doesn’t seem to notice. It isn’t our place to tell her about her beloved home being on the market. She’s getting better and stronger, we can’t tell her. It’d destroy her.
Before we leave, I hug her and warn her to not let anyone write her off. Da tells her to keep fighting and mammy tells her how much she loves her.
We all love her which is why it breaks my heart about what’s happening in the background.