I spoke on the phone to my father today. The difference between the way he answers the phone now and how he did three weeks ago is marked: where there was fear, where there was pain, where was the acceptence of the worst, there now is joy. There’s a smile in the voice that only a couple of weeks ago sounded leaden and careworn. You see, my mother walked today. This morning she shuffled along the burns unit corridor with the aid of a Zimmer frame, and then she did it again this afternoon.
Dad is buying a new bed for her return; he’s dercorating the bedroom; he’s shampooing carpets; he’s shopping for new clothes; he’s looking forward to what, at our family’s lowest point, seemed to be the impossible: Mum’s homecoming.
I raise my glass to the NHS. Thank you Mr Bevan! Thank you.
I know you have all been thinking of me. You cannot know how much that means to me. You should know that I have been thinking of you. And that always helps.