I visited my mother this morning. She didn’t stop asking for Pádraig. How he is, whether he understood what we are saying to him, whether he can move, how strong his voice is… She stopped every nurse passing by (and there were a few of them) to tell them that I was her son and that my son was very sick in a hospital in Hamburg. We spent a few hours together and we talked about Pádraig. Going over the same questions again and again. Memory doesn’t get better with age.

Seeing your parents get old and fragile, not being able to help themselves anymore, when they had, all their lives, helped you with anything you had ever asked them for (and sometimes with things you hadn’t ask them for:), seeing your parents in such a situation is terribly sad and breaks your heart.

When I had to leave her to drive back up to Hamburg, I wasn’t myself. I couldn’t be because I would have been too upset. I switched off. For self-protection.

Back in Hamburg, Pádraig was doing well.

I know, I know, you have been waiting for this for a long time: there was another “first” today. During the physio session he managed to hold his head up for a minute or two, without any support. He was sitting in the bed, with a physio supporting his back, and another moving his legs when, all of a sudden, they noticed his head – and almost couldn’t believe what they saw!

A bit like Santa coming early this year. In fact, there were a few of them on their motorbikes coming down from the North pole riding South, with Mrs Santa on the back seat. I’d say they’ll take the ferry to Ireland from France, so they should be there in time for Christmas!