My son-in-law, Dave, rang Tim. It was day three after my chemotherapy. I can imagine the conversation. Was “Kay up for a visit?” Himself and Ricky were thinking of coming up for the evening.

Julie was going out with her friend, Jen. Tim might order Indian from the local Raj Gaylord and Dave would collect it.

Tim would have said that I was in good enough form earlier, even pulling a few cleavers in the garden, and was currently in bed resting and would get up later.

Tim came into me about 5.30pm. Did I feel up to the plan? Day three, four, five and more after chemotherapy are lousy days but it doesn’t mean that they are write offs.

Why wouldn’t I agree that two of my favourite men would visit out of love and concern and want to make my day a better one? I could say no and sleep on but that’s not living. Ricky also knew I had Match Attax for him, so he had his own little agenda. It was also the night of the blue moon, the one that occurs for the second time in a calendar month. Tim hoped that Ricky could see it.

Match Attax

I pulled myself out of bed and into the shower, feeling the fatigue dragging at my bones.

It would be easy to give in and sometimes I have to and I tell myself it’s OK. Yet, I know that every time I have to stay in bed weakens my body another bit.

I have to find the balance. I fight it and before long I’m in the kitchen doing jobs and waiting for Ricky’s energetic little arms to go around me.

“Granny, did the Match Attax come?” His eyes lit up at the sight of a brown cardboard envelope at the end of the table.

“Granny, it’s so sticky,” he says, as he tears it open. Within minutes, there are cards across the table and he’s spouting information about players’ credentials.

Tim came into me about 5.30pm. Did I feel up to the plan? Day three, four, five and more after chemotherapy are lousy days but it doesn’t mean that they are write offs

Diarmuid is collecting FIFA 2026 players and there were some there for him too. It’s nice for Diarmuid, who has an intellectual disability, and Ricky to have something to bond about.

The Indian is served. It has been a busy week – the silage is cut, the fertiliser spread, two trips around the farm, to get sulphur and nitrogen on. Tim sees I’m tired again. “You should go to bed,” he whispers. I say, “I’ll wait for the moon.” It’s due at 9.38pm.

I walk out by Colm and Elaine’s house. There’s no sign of the moon. Maybe 10 minutes later, dusk has fallen, Tim calls me to the patio window. I’ve to stand in just one place to catch the view of the blue moon framed between the branches of the big Lacebark tree.

In that moment, I wish I could paint the scene.

The small blue moon is pink, perfectly caught in a triangle of branches, not touching, just spectacularly there.

Tim has helped Ricky to find his place to see the moon too. The facts are gone over. And then cloud cover obliterated it and the moment was gone.

The point is, we had the moment.

Positive results

Ricky twisted Dave’s arm into staying over. Julie came our way too. There’s nothing like a bank holiday weekend to encourage families to get together around a loved one that needs a lift.

My last scans show some reduction in the tumours across my lungs and reduction in the tumour under my arm. We take the positive results and keep on finding those ‘moon’ moments.