The last few times I’ve seen her she has been calm and relaxed, if still very confused. She no longer knows her way around my house, and has to be reminded to feel for the seat of a chair before she tries to sit down.
Mozart has warmed up to her, begging for attention as much as William does. The two dogs park themselves under the table next to her at meals. Seldom is their patience not rewarded!
She loves listening to the CDs our friend Al made for her, but no longer remembers who he is. “I recognize the name,” she says, “but I can’t put a face to it.” I told her that since she is nearly blind, she shouldn’t worry about faces! Al has some major events coming up that I know she would want to pray about. She expressed sympathy, and said she would–if she remembered. That was deliberate on her part. When she is rested, she is aware of and accepts that her memory “isn’t so good.”
It was a lovely evening, and she sat outside on a glider on my patio while I fixed supper. She has never been a picky eater and there are only a few things I know she doesn’t like.
Was I going to be taking her back to that “sleeping place” again tonight? Where is it again? And where were we right then, while we were eating?
We got in the car, and I stopped at the bottom of the hill, waiting for traffic before turning right.
“I’ll look this way and you look that way,” she said. I snapped my head around to see her grinning at me.
“Thanks a bunch,” I groused. Then we giggled. It’s so nice to know her sense of humor is still intact.