In my dream she giggled like a child as she bounced around the room, pogoing recklessly from the drip stand. The mother I knew was severe and restrained. Dad told me years ago how she had changed after I was born. I awoke consumed by grief, which scared Laura immensely.
The next day, in the stroke ward, Mum had the same expression as always. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling. It was later, when I slumped back in the chair next to her bed, weary and muggy from the hospital’s environment, that I saw the dents in the ceiling.