Mum is cold. White like a sheet of new paper. Very still. When I pick up her hand it is like picking up a bit of hose. Heavy. It flops back down when I let go and she doesn't notice. Doesn't care. I have never, ever, ever seen her be this still. Even when she sleeps.

I don't want to touch her because it feels weird touching her and she's not warm. Like she isn't in there. But I pull open her eyelid and her eye is just sliding around underneath. Not seeing. You can tell she isn't seeing. The smell in the room is awful. The worst smell. Worse than anything.

I go to the kitchen and run a glass of water. It's so cold in here now. We haven't had a fire in days. The water is so cold it hurts. I spill a lot of it. On the floor and on the counter. On myself. It comes through my clothes cold and black. I don't want to try and make her drink it. I can't do that. The thought of it running down her face...

I go back into the room where she is and I stand there. It's a mess. I don't know what to do.