Mum

 David, the Senior (carer) on duty, his taken his face mask off to speak to me in the empty resident's lounge. It isn't until much later that I realise quite how professional this act has been. You can't talk about the impending death of a close relative to someone properly if you're wearing a face mask.

My questions answered, it's back to Mum's bedside. She isn't responsive; I don't know if it's sleep or unconsciousness. 

If she wanted spiritual nourishment in her final years, coming to Nottingham was a spectacularly bad decision. Both of my brothers are more spiritual beings, and one has been a lifelong Christian and regular worshipper, like Mum.

But I'm up for a challenge. The only time she rouses, briefly, is when I struggle through the Lord's Prayer - only to find I've missed a bit out. Then I hum the few hymns I can remember, mostly Christmas ones. For some reason I keep wanting to hum "All the nice girls love a ..." which is scarcely appropriate. Can she hear me anyway? Who knows.

As far as I can tell she's not in any pain or distress. But this isn't how I'd choose to die.