I had been down with the flu (or something) and hadn’t seen her for more than a week. Took her to the podiatrist today–toenail fungus, responding to treatment, her sitting there in the chair as the podiatrist started to clip off the dead overgrown stuff:
“There’s only five of them, you know,” she said.
“Yeah, well I’ve got my five so I’ll leave yours to you.”
Giggles all around.
Then to the hearing aid people to get her repaired ones back, and home for lunch.
After lunch I told her about the death of her dear old friend Jennie. (thanks, Tim). I was surprised that her response was positive–all the happy, funny times they had shared as school bus drivers.
Then the strange questions: “Did I have a son named Theodore?”
“Yes, Mother, that is Ted.”
“Well, what happened to those boys?” (what boys?)
“Do you remember how many children you had?
“Three, I think.”
“Do you remember the two you lost?”
“Yes, but I don’t remember what happened to them.”
“Do you remember Ruth?”
“Not really.” ( Ruth was stillborn when I was three)
“What about Tommy?”
“Oh yes, he used to sit at the piano and pick out tunes he heard me sing.”
“Do you remember anything else about Tommy?” (Tommy died of a botched tonsilectomy when he was four and I was eight)
“No, not really.”
How very sad. What is present is her current reality, unless, of course, a trauma that happened long ago takes over.
Maybe is is better/safer this way. Who knows how the brain protects us when we are frail?