She has become lost to us. He tries to call but gets no answer. One of her sons says that he has spoken to her but she is still groggy from the anaesthetic and the strong medication they are giving her. I miss overhearing their afternoon conversations as I make supper. He asking her if she’s ‘squedging’ and walking and her replying yes, and pointing toes. And then the talk of TV, who is escaping to the country and where. And then about what she’s reading. And she will relay where she is up to with Jane Austen or Mrs Gaskell. I miss hearing her laugh. She’d come on so well. And now there is this silence. We are to go and see her soon. I wish her the will to overcome this.
His wife died all of a sudden. Poor man. And he is such a good man. A decent man, I think. May she rest in peace.
We walked in the sun in the afternoon. Just lovely.
