My 85-year-old mother came to live with me a year ago last November. She was very ill and I had to put my life on hold to 1 her.
Each morning, I got her up and 2 her and made her breakfast, and sat with her. I rushed for a bowl when she felt sick, and lit fires to keep her warm. I cooked and 3 her to take a few bites.
It's a hard job looking after a sick or dying parent, whoever you are. But it was 4 hard for me, a doctor myself. I couldn't help treating her in two different ways. The medical professional in me led me to examine her in 5 as if she were my patient. As a 6 , I saw the woman who had given birth to me, wiped my nose, sent me to college and had been 7 presence in my life for over half a century.
Also, my mother didn't 8 my hard work or understand that other people's help could have 9 the burden.
None of the treatments her doctors gave her 10 
and finally her life became about comfort. When finally she accepted the painkillers, she accepted the fact that she would 11 .
Illness and need took us across personal boundary I'd never before considered. We used to argue a lot, 12 during this time we shared stories and memories and we became 13 .
When the 14 came, we accepted the fact that we looked at the world in different ways, but what 15 was that we loved each other.
