As the summer progressed, so did Roy’s cancer. For the most part, he dealt with it all with good grace. Mark or I or one of the boys would be with him most of the time during the day, either talking to him, or just giving him a reassuring hug. Roy soaked up the physical affection like a sponge.
Dr Holloway, our local doctor, paid us frequent visits to regulate Roy’s medication. By the middle of July, Mark and I were forced to admit Roy’s medical needs were becoming too much for us to cope with. He found it almost impossible to hold a cup or piece of cutlery.
Knowing he was relying upon Mark and me more and more, Roy asked us to admit him to a hospice.
Mark balked. “We promised we’d look after you here.”
“Going into a hospice will free you two up, mean you can get on with your lives
