"Life is meant for the living" my Mother said to me as she pressed her face into the corner of the hospital room. There were streams of tears flowing from her face, and in a desperate attempt to disappear, she had planted her face firmly against the concrete wall, replicating my nephew Toby when he is trying to hide, often after finding himself in trouble. I was rubbing Mum's back and looking out our window out into the building opposite us. This building was a second wing to the hospital and was like a TV editing suite, each window representing a plasma screen tuned into an episode of All Saints, RPA or A Country Practice. There was a room with a teenager slumped in a wheelchair, he was wearing silk boxer shorts which instantly transported me
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