Moorhouse Inn
To Horton-in-Ribblesdale with Sue, Christopher and Benjamin. Rain. We found Mum greatly deteriorated. She now cannot eat or swallow any of her pills, and takes sips of drink from a baby cup. She looked at Ally as she sipped, and said: "Just look at the state I'm in ...". Sue provided a liver casserole for the kids, and both Dad and I had a bowl. Later, Dad and Ally took the children out into the village for a walk. Spitting rain. I sat holding Mum's hand, Sue in a chair looking uncomfortable. She doesn't like the long silences. When Mum speaks it is weak and distorted. Obviously distressed and fed up with living. Dad says the end is near. We drove away later and saw Mum raise her weak, thin arm as an act of goodbye. Dad stood next to the apple tree blinking back tears. Night off. Thank God.
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