At the weekend we are invited to our friends, Wendy and Ian, who have a house by the sea. The invitation is extended to Mum and, although recently she’s been reluctant to leave home, this time she’s game for the trip. With a bit of shoving and heaving she allows herself to be pushed up the long flight of steps to their front door, giggling helplessly at her own difficulties. “Oh! My old bones!” she cries, crawling up the steps on her hands and knees.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/jun/23/familyandrelationships.family2

I’ve been trying all week to get my mother to the doctor’s to have her dressing changed. The hospital where she fell, and where they temporarily dressed the wound, insisted she should go soon. But I have not been able to get to her at any time when the surgery might be open and she can’t get there on her own. Every time I see her, the arm looks worse. The plaster is stuck tight with old blood congealed around it. “Did I bump into something?” she asks when I look at it.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/jun/09/familyandrelationships.family3