The imminent nature of death, of a terminal illness and knowing you are loosing a loved one.

Mostly you just deal with it. There is no other choice really. But every now and then, a small, seemingly insignificant thing comes along. And bam, it hits you. In a way, it is like a life being chipped away at, tiny fragments disappearing, and a slow erosion, of someone’s mind, body and spirit.

Last night was one of those small things. A small thing, a small comment, that actually is a big deal.

Mum isn’t eating properly. This shouldn’t come as a surprise. I have kind of known for a little while. And pestered and hassled her about it along the way. Now though, she can’t summon the motivation to cook. She has always cooked. Childhood was full of home made things, concoctions. Having a step dad who was a chef only expanded mum’s menu of meals.

Now though, she isn’t. Not because she can’t. But because she doesn’t see the point.
She has always been thin. With the chemo and radiotherapy, what little weight she had is gone.

Shrinking. Literally.

I am not a great cook. I enjoy it when I do though. I am going to need to start a regime of making meals, freezing home cooked food too. She needs topping up.