Days turn to weeks, weeks into months.

Mum is Max’s constant companion, never leaving his side, and if she does, she’s never gone far.

The time spent going for short strolls turns into time spent listening to music or watching old films. Eventually, it turns into time spent holding Max’s hand as he sleeps.

Gone are her womanly curves to be replaced by jutting bones.

Gone are Max’s toned muscles to be replaced by limbs that no longer want to move.

Gone is her soft, peaches and cream skin, now dry, chapped and sallow.

But what remains is a sparkling glint of green in Max’s eyes. And an abundance of bright shining love in Mum’s that not even the approaching dark clouds can diminish.

On the occasions we convince Mum to take some time for herself, even if only to shower and rest, one of us takes her place.

And it’s where I find myself now. Watching Max sleep as I try to read a book in the wingback chair that once sat in the corner of the living room, and is now permanently placed at his bedside.

He awakes with a start, gasping for air, and a pain that no meds can control pinches his gaunt features.

“Hey,” I soothe, reaching out for his water glass and straw. “Are you having a lot of pain today? I can call the nurse, see if she can up your doses?”

He looks up at the ceiling while gathering himself and slowly says, “No worse than when she saw me yesterday. I’m okay, Fflur.”

“Drink?”

His eyes flit to the water, and he shakes his head. “Not unless it’s vodka or even a gin.”

I laugh. “I’m not sure that would mix well with your medicine.”

“I’m not sure there’s any point worrying about that now,” he whispers with a smile and tilts his head to look at me when he sees my shaky one.

“Don’t be sad for me, Fflur. These last few years have been the best of my life, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

I swallow down my emotions and take his hand.

“I hated you for a while,” I admit, and he chokes on a laugh and then winces.

“I know, and at the time you had a right to feel that way. I just hope you don’t feel that way now.”

My words are hoarse, catching on my tongue when I reply, “No, I could never hate you now.”

The sound of Galen playing his guitar in the TV room floats through the open bedroom door. He’s been doing it a fair bit, playing for Max, pouring his grief and joy, love and pain, heart and hope, into new music.

“Have you two made up?” Max asks, his eyes flicking to the open door and the sounds of Galen’s soul.

“It’s complicated.”

“Love always is.”

Bright blue meets fading green and Max squeezes my hand. It’s a weak touch, his energy levels next to zero.

“I’ve watched you both since childhood. My son has always looked at you like you hung the moon and every single star in the clear night’s sky.”

My eyes leave him, and look towards the open door.

“You’d leave to go to your father’s and instead of playing footy out the back, Gal would sit outside on the grass with a book about flowers in his hands and memorise the names of every plant in the garden. When he’d done all those, he’d sneak into the woods and do the same with the wildflowers.”

“W-what?”

My head turns to Max once more and the smile he gives me is full of adoration.

“We’ve talked about it, your Mum and me. Don’t continue torturing each other because you’ve been waiting for our blessing. You already have it.”

I shut my eyes, and a tear slips free.

“But I know about Lena. I know Gal’s mother was Mum’s sister.”

“And?” he asks simply.

“Isn’t that wrong? Don’t you think it’s wrong?”

“Do you?”

I shake my head not knowing what I think.

“Listen, Fflur,” Max says, a grimace rolling over his weary face as he shifts on the bed. “Take some advice from a dying man.”

My throat tightens painfully, but I remain still, calm and composed, knowing that what he says now I will carry with me for always.

“Don’t make life hard. It’s hard enough. Laugh, tell stupid jokes at inappropriate times, dive naked into a freezing cold river because it’s a daft thing to do. Love, even if that someone can’t love you in return. Live, don’t waste time on the little things.” He takes a shallow breath and continues, “And if you should find someone to share all that with you, the laughs, the silliness, the adventure, the love. If they giggle at the jokes, if they jump into the river with you, if they pull you out of too much seriousness, and if they love you like you love them. And he does, Fflur. Then you grab that love with both hands and be damned about what anyone else says.”

I nod because there is no way I can speak, and I watch as Max’s eyes crinkle and the corner of his mouth tips up in acknowledgement.

I’ve tired him out. His blinks are becoming longer, and his head turns once more, his awareness back on Galen’s music.

“Do something for me?” he asks just above a whisper.

“Anything.”

“Ask Gal to play You Are My Sunshine. Tell him it’s the Johnny Cash version. He’ll know what you mean. Tell him to play it for your mother.”

“I can ask him to play it now.”

“No,” he says, but it’s barely a breath. “Not now. Later.”

Another tear slides from my eye and I squeeze Max’s hand as he falls back to sleep.

“I don’t hate you now,” I whisper once his breathing evens out. “I lo—”

The declaration gets caught on a silent sob, and I bow my head to my chest, and I cry.