Scattered shells are the toddler’s contribution.
Ten turrets line the walls at the five-year-old’s insistence.
The father perspires as he attempts to make a moat.
The teenager abandons his sulks about the lack of signal, shapes a trebuchet out of sticks and sand.
As I pass, I hear their celebrations on creating a fortress to fight cancer on Mum’s behalf.
I thank them, even though it’s too late. Feel reassured they will cope without me.