when i woke, i heard my mother coughing, below in the kitchen. she had been coughing for days on end, but i had paid no attention. we were living on the old youghal road at the time. the coughing sounded terrible. i dressed and went downstairs in my stocking feet, and in the clear morning light, i saw her, unaware that she was being watched, collapse into a little armchair, holding her side. she had made an attempt to light the fire, but it had gone against her. she looked so tired and helpless that my heart turned over with compassion. i ran to her.
"are you alright, mum?" i asked ."i'll be alright in a second," she replied, trying to smile. "the old sticks were wet, and the smoke started me coughing."