Postcards: to my mum

The last time I recall sending postcards was in April and May 2006, to my mum. My mother had been hit by a car and was in hospital in a coma in Perth, Australia. My husband and I were in Thessaloniki and about to collect a hire car to travel around Greece researching a chapter for Lonely Planet's European guides. Fortunately my sister in Perth reached me in time, and we had internet access and the airline schedules were on our side. We managed to get on flights that day from Thessaloniki to Athens, Athens to Dubai, and Dubai to Perth, and were in Australia the next day. A week later and my mother remained in a coma, yet we had a job to start in Greece. As we drove around the country, my thoughts continually returned to my mum: would she recover? when she came out of the coma would she have brain damage? would she know me? would she forgive me for not being by her side? would I even see her again? and what if she died? My mum and I had enjoyed choosing and writing postcards when we travelled together, particularly on the long trip we took around Europe a few summers before, after my dad had died of cancer. We'd spend a couple of hours at the end of each day's sightseeing at an outdoor cafe, a glass of white wine at hand, people-watching and writing postcards. The only way life could have been more perfect would have been if dad was still alive.