“The tears of old people are as terrible as the tears of children are natural.” Balzac, 1841

My day starts early. At 4am I can catch my mother before her lunch is served in the Arizona rehab hospital where she is trying to recover from a fractured hip. 

So far, she has always recognised who I am, but her communication skills vary from hour to hour. 

Some days she just says a listless “Yes” to everything I say. Other days, she is chattier, and one can almost forget that she has a severe memory disorder.