In the last week of her life, Ma asked me to come and see her, and she seemed agitated and disconcerted. She spent the next 36 hours talking to me as I sat on the edge of her bed, her - hooked to the oxygen tank gasping for fresh air, me - wanting to get out into the fresh air.
She proclaimed over and over that she had always been very proud of me, and my achievements, and that she did really love me.
What a pity it was too late, too hard for me to forgive her or even to believe her!
