My house has been sporadically filled with people, care assistants, friends to see W, the hospice doctor, W's GP, my friends, neighbours, district nurses (yes, they always travel in pairs...). Last night, for the first time I met the Church of Scotland Minister..... They want to care for, talk to, assess, pray for, administer to. Oh I don't know, for all I know they might just be here for the TEA and SHERRY.
W continues to breathe heavily and raspily through an oxygen mask. Sometimes he moans.

All the time, in the background, upstairs, or in the living room there has been The Cherub. The kid is 13 for heavens sake, and his daddy is dying.

He's been so good there in the background. Life continues to give this kid No Breaks. Typically for Cherub, at a time when he would be Let Off School, school is on half term break. So he doesn't even get bonus holidays.
Luckily the hospice sent out its best doctor, Dr K, to visit us. Dr K made sure that the Cherub understood that his daddy would be in no pain as he was under a lot of drugs which would make sure he would never wake up. The noises that we would hear were normal and didn't mean that W was in distress.
Dr K stressed to the Cherub that if he found it frightening or upsetting at all, he could let us know, and his daddy would go back to the hospice instead of staying here at home.
The Cherub was reassured that his dad would be having well freaky dreams, but could definitely still hear anyone talking to him.
Without wanting to sound too much like a New Age hippy here, I've made sure the Cherub got Priority Access through to his dad's room, where he has returned a couple of times now to spend some time with his dad talking and just holding his hand. I was re-assured last night when he told me he'd found it comforting being with him.

Apparently W has squeezed the cherub's hand in return.