I stayed the night with Mum last night. The sofa in her room folds out. “We’re camping!” I said. “That’s right,” she said. We were both glad I was there. I am good at rubbing her back when she is throwing up.

Her illness bores her, but she doesn’t dwell on it. She loves having her family and friends around her. She wants to chat and play mah jongg.

“Beautiful mum,” I said, “brave mum,” and she laughed.

Her dear friend Hazel is coming from Sydney today.

This morning I went to Jane’s for a shower and to cuddle my lapwolf. I called Jeremy, who told me about Bebe. “Her eyes are still bright,” he said.

Now I am at Henry Street, where Sarah’s black kitten is mewing hello to me and walking across the keyboard purring, exactly the way Bebe likes to do.

I am glad I saved the works of David Foster Wallace for this moment in my life.

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