5 November, 1979
"My blood hurts Max," smiled the middle-aged woman before she froze. A green, horizontal line scored the dark screen and a slow beep filled the white room.
A pocket of nothing burst upon the tearful few. It was a sensation that made the blood run cold and stomachs feel like they'd gone over a hump- backed bridge.
"I'm so sorry Max. She's gone." The nurse covered Alice Donnolly's face with a sheet and turned off the life support. Keith Donnolly held his young son in his arms and wiped the tears from his face.
The 10-year-old was was spending the first of what would become many days coming to terms with the loss of his mother.
"Maximillian," he said with the gravity of a man passing on life-changing information. "Know one thing."
The lad looked up at his dad in the hospital ward, tears streaming. "Love is like a multi-storey car park," he said.
Max sniffed and tried to regain his composure.
"I don't understand," the boy replied.
Keith held his son tighter than ever.
"One day you will Max. One day."
*****