her face is flushed. her eyes are glassy.

“we’re in grave danger,” mum tells dad over the phone. it’s sliding out of her grip.

mum is convinced her father, Grand-dad, is standing outside the door. armed and dangerous. despite my protests, she wobbles towards the door and opens it to find no one.

on the radio, the worship song ‘blessed be your name’  is playing. “when the darkness closes in, Lord, still i will say, blessed be your name…” it croons and my eyes tear up as mum stands there confused, wondering where her father’s gone.

“he’s coming on sunday, mum,” i tell her quietly. she sits back down beside me.

a few minutes later, “he’s wearing black.”

“who, mum?”

“grand-dad. i can see him by the garden.”

she’s peering out the window. the flowers wave in lonely array. no one is there.

after a while we stand up and dance to the music, but it’s hard. she keeps staring at the door. then suddenly, “let’s go home.”

“we are home, mum,” i tell her quietly, but suddenly i realize she’s not here. she’s miles away.

i remember his voice on my walk amongst the leaves and sunshine: “every good gift i give you is an offering,” he’d said. God’s voice, a whisper on the breeze. “and then you give it back to me,” he continued. “it’s a dance of offerings. and the world will watch, mesmerized, by the beauty of it all.”

so now as i watch my mum’s brain being ravaged by cancer, i give her back to him, an offering. and trust he’ll return her, a new creation. healed, and in her right mind.