In their arguments, she was distressed to find her behaviour echoing her mother’s:

Lean on sink, after days of feigning unawareness or of showing concern; think “I could always die.” Comes, is furious to find tears. We sit down, on floor and sofa. “I asked you if you would look after me” (Harshly). “I think this is one of those times when I need looking after.” (As though there were other times). Utter oblivion to comparable sentiments, requirements. Self-pity, lack of connection … His grief is sacred (But so is everyone’s.) Only true grief is loss of loved one by cancer. Nothing else weighs.—Oh what sorrows everyone experiences, even in their dark imaginings.