I take it she is dead, then.

Apparently they told her that I love her, and then the father, in a whimsical moment, told her I'm gonna go to Cambridge or the other place and do great things. Which makes me happy. It's what she would have wanted to hear.

And then she squeezed Eileen's hand, and then my dad's, and over the next few seconds her pulse grew sparser and sparser, and then just... wasn't there any more. It's the best way to die, I guess. No seizures, no contractions, no convulsions or groans, just passing away. Apparently the high dose of diamorphine was too much for her heart to take, and that was what made it 'just stop'. That makes sense, I think.

It's sinking in a bit, now. It'll sink in more when I go to the funeral, and when we sort out her belongings. I know she left me and my sisters £2000 (yes - I gasped too. Sharp intake of breath time. She was quite rich, but it was all in savings and she never did take it out of the bank and enjoy it) so I imagine that'll go in my university fund, which is looking an awful lot healthier now. (I didn't have one before this. 'Sup, Cambridge? I'll pay my tuition fees in brilliance, wit, references to 1980s comedies, and car-jacking!' I think not.) We'll have to sort out her stuff, too... there'll be jewellery and ornaments and furniture to sort out, along with photos and things. That part might be quite interesting.

I look forwards to having Rise and Fall of the Third Reich back, because she gave me it.

Also, I can function. I'm quite proud. I thought I'd be a nervous wreck. Still, the prospect of doing work in the remainder of today doesn't exactly fill me with joy.