I wish I could understand what goes on in the Grand Central Station of my mother's body. I know she knows us at least part of the time.
If I didn't believe it was impossible I would think she's getting even with us and giving us the cold shoulder. It just isn't Mom at all to treat us so impersonally!
When I walk into her room I say Hi to her and she just looks at me like, do I care who you are?
I was in her house last week. It was empty and dark. I walked through the whole house just thinking and looking. I missed my Mom. She just was not there. I saw her coat hanging on the hall tree and got this irrational urge to go give it a huge hug and hang on till I felt better. I didn't though, because I'm not impulsive. I knew it wouldn't help and if anyone walked in it would have looked very strange to be hugging a coat on a hall tree.
I have a mind image of Mom in the kitchen, wearing a cobbler apron and whipping up a cakemix, or maybe Potato Salad.
But my mother sits in the nursing home. Dosing in her chair and not caring if I'm there or not. My Dad and I sit and talk about almost everything. We talk about mom, about life, about God and about the coming election. We are a comfort to each other I think.
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