Monday, 25 April 2016

"That Little Glimmer of Hope"

We had a good day yesterday.  Yesterday we talked and laughed.  Yesterday she recited poetry (from memory) to us.  Yesterday she mischievously asked my da whether he wanted his nails doing, as she was going to be having hers done: “Ah no, you’re alrigh’.  I do me own with the clear nail varnish” he says, that joking smirk on his face. 

She’s having visitors this week, her daughter is coming from the US and her baby sister is coming from Ireland.  She’s excited. 

Spending time in her company makes me love her more.  She’s a fighter; she’d been written off by some, and is still being written off by others.  Yesterday she mentioned her house a lot.  She wants to go home.  And this is where my heart begins to break because she can’t go home.  Her home is on the market, at a knock down price as well.  I’ve been informed that even though it is on the market, it cannot be sold because it’s her house.  This makes absolutely no sense to me. 

I want to cry.  No one has told her it's for sale, still.  Me, my ma and da haven’t the heart to tell her; and anyway, it isn’t our place to.  Mumblings have been heard that it should come from a voice of authority, like her GP.  That is utter fucking bullshit; it should be someone she loves, a family member or better still, the ghoul who decided to sell the house of a woman who is STILL ALIVE.  But then the phrase ‘we can’t take that glimmer of hope away from her’ was uttered and it made me want to vomit. 

The Ireland flag my ma brought for her room has vanished.  We have our suspicions about what has happened to it.

And I’m dodging FB messages trying to explain why her house is on the market, or why she’s been written off.  It’s killing me.  It’s killing us all.

And we’d had such a good day yesterday.


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