However long my tether is I think I reached it tonight.

Put simply..... I've run out of life affirming ideas to put forward to mum

She simply will not have any of it. She sits and stares and sits and hates. I've concluded that any life affirming conversations are pointless.

Won't do anything I suggest or anything anyone else suggests, she even tut tutted when the District Nurse, who I called on account of mum being seriously uncomfortable, suggested that the bed sores won't improve unless mum moves around more. You'd have thought the nurse was monstrous. To mum though she was. Anything sensible suggested is met with derision.
Mother lives in a vile bubble of emotional pus brought on by grief, terminal cancer and loss of everything dear to her. I'm here but I might as well be invisible. My tongue should stay firmly between my lips.
Ever since she's lived with us we've all tried to make life as comfortable as possible. We've been tender. Even when she's scolded us, me in particular, we've hung onto the idea that one day she'll see sense, waken to the idea that continuing to cling to the idea of good health and solo living is plain barmy. For her own safety she needs to stay here in the front room with all her gear around her and with me and Mr Horsehound on tap.

After another evening of fruitless discussion she's in the front room tired, solemn and icily bitter and I'm here in Mr H's dusty crowded office, tearfully exhausted.
How will I deal with tomorrow?