This morning one of my best friends mum died she was 63 and was diagnosed 6 weeks ago. It was cancer, everywhere. Last year my dad died it was a brain tumour he fought for 6 months. Those months were a living hell and I won’t sugarcoat it. For him and us; he lost all his dignity he was almost blind before it and the cancer robbed him entirely. He lost use of his legs and had to be bed bathed and pads changed near the end. He would cry out in distress in the night. What could we do ? Just be with him, tell him mundane things, anything to distract from the approaching conclusion. Life was a constant round of well meaning visitors and carers four times a day. It was rare to get a moment alone. But, somehow I did. We had 30 minutes while I visited him in hospital he was being sick and had cellulitis as a complication. I just sat with him and talked nonsense. He did not respond just some murmuring and I stroked his hand. It was peaceful. There was no crying or revelations just the two of us. This once big man was the man who taught me how to ride a bike, who carried me to bed when I fell asleep on the sofa, who listened when I said I had written a new story no one else did those things. As I write this my head hurts as dollops of tears fall, time doesn’t lessen the pain as you pause in your day time madness and you remember they just aren’t there anymore, just an ache and memories that never fade.