He would never remember their conversations. So she would spend her time, floating, gazing at the lights. She wanted to call them the Northern Lights, but as she had never seen the Northern Lights, she had named them the Other Lights.

She would stare at them for hours, ever fascinated by their ebb and flow, their prismatic separation recombining into colours she had never seen before. After awhile, she would want to join them, to become one with them, and often she would feel it possible to do so. Lately, much of the time, Norma wasn't sure what was a dream and what was reality and indeed, whether the two were really as different as she had once believed.

Her husband was reluctant to visit his daughter in this state. It hurt him so. She had noticed how Bob had buried himself in his work of late, coming to the hospital only in the evenings and then spending most of his time in the cafeteria, where he could smoke. He would come in to get her, stopping only long enough to give Norma a kiss on the forehead. It hurt Martha so much. She tried to understand her husband, but, with Norma lying there looking so frail and delicate, connected to the ever-present life support machines, with the constant beep, beep, beep, of the heart monitor, she wondered why Bob had abandoned his daughter. He was a very logical man.

He would tell Martha that Norma could not possibly know of their presence and that all they could do now was pray, even though neither one of them was particularly religious. They had both been baptized Anglican, one of the least demanding of religions. Or so Martha thought.

Martha turned and watched the sun slowly set over the lake. The flaming red ball of an autumn sun, perhaps at another time, would have conveyed the hope of a spring that surely must follow. Now, it signified only the beginning of winter, a time of sleep. She prayed that it would not signify death.

She gently placed Norma's hand back on the bed. It was time to go and prepare dinner. After all, she still had her son, John and Bob to look after. "I'll be back," Martha thought as she looked down at her sleeping daughter, gently brushing a tear from her cheek.