Today I took her to lunch at an actual restaurant. The Hibachi Grill certainly isn’t gourmet, but it’s a fun oriental-type buffet and I thought being able to taste a sample bite of lots of different things might be fun and stimulating for her. She was glad to see me, but seemed a little disoriented and subdued.
I told her about a rare phone call I had last night with my brother. She listened, then asked, “Did he ask about me?”
“No, Mother, he did not. But I told him a little about what has been going on.”
When we got back to Whispering Pines, she said, “What’s your sister’s name?”
“That’s Becky, Mother.”
“Didn’t she marry a black man?”
“Yes, Mother. You and Father lived with her and Willie for five years in Missouri, don’t you remember?”
“No, not really.”
“Do you remember her children’s names?” Mother was especially fond of her now adult grandson, Nathan.
“No, did she have children?”
And so it goes. She made the connection between a friend of mine with whom she hasn’t talked in several years and the state of Pennsylvania, but family names are sometimes lost to her.
Just because the lights are on is no guarantee that anyone’s home. It’s sad.