This is not him- it must be the wrong room. I was not expecting to see this. A childish scared voice, a confused and muttered sentence, a scrawny face. But this is what I wanted ... 'One last time'. And I saw where he would go, and I saw who went before him. But this is not the man I knew, who gave me pink milk and pingu videos, and piggybacks. And I stand there, in the unfamiliar kitchen and I search through twenty mugs to find the lightest, so that it is easier for him to lift. Still his hand shakes and he looks at me blankly.

He has regressed, back to handled cups and liquid foods, and wide eyed fear at the world. Half formed words and missing teeth, it ends like it began, in a hospital bed surrounded by strangers.