We watch Ma crying at the telly, not a soppy movie with someone in happy-ever-after-love but it's about a farm with problems that a cartoon or a famous TV presenter can't fix, a farm that once grew crops, a farm that’s now growing wild, the end of an era, they say, and it kills her, with sobs so strong she can't breathe, and we've not seen her this bad, but she's out cold on the sofa, and I call emergency services, we've prepared for this day, and you shake her, try to wake her, and on the phone, they say to check she’s breathing, and she is, and they say maybe she's asleep, and I want to be rude but I need their help so say, she didn't fall asleep, and I answer their questions, as I watch Ma's chest rise and fall, and then her eyes flick open to see me on the phone, grab it out of my hand, saying hello, I'm fine, I was just asleep, and shout, she wasn't, she's lying, but they’re not listening to me and Ma's laughing, saying, thanks for your understanding, have a great day too, and she gives me a look, says she's OK now and continues to watch TV, as the farm is saved by letting it go back to the wild, sustainable tourism they say, and she turns to the dead plant on the windowsill and back to me, my arms crossed, and she switches off the TV, asks if we want to go to the park, and you scream yes, hug her, run to get your shoes, and I say sure, and think about maybe picking some wild flowers for the windowsill, maybe some with roots that can grow in the empty pots on the balcony, maybe.
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