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Just before my mother reached the final stage of her illness, she was still living independently in the council bungalow she'd had for almost 25 years. But a few years earlier - as a precaution - she'd registered for a flat at a nearby sheltered accommodation complex in case the bungalow ever became too much. In the interim, though, she'd made her mind up. She wanted to stay put. 'I'm not leaving here,' she said to me one day 'until I'm carried out in a box!' I supported her in this. My brother wasn't so sure. His wife and her daughter, my step-niece, began to exert some pressure. There were already tensions between us. His wife and I had never gotten on. They seemed to go against anything I liked or wanted. At last, an opportunity arose to bring the matter to a head...