Today

            Today Mom changed from her jeans into her corduroys in the living room.  She asked me what my father died of.  She got places and the years she lived in those places turned around in every direction.  During the intermission at the concert we attended, she said she would wait for me outside the bathroom but wasn’t there when I came out a few minutes later.  (She had forgotten she was waiting and was wandering in the crowd looking for me.)

            Today Mom made her share of clever jokes (which I cannot remember at the moment) and astute comments.  After her eye appointment, despite her very foggy vision from having her pupils dilated, she noticed that the snowman Christmas decorations were made from banisters.  She held a reasonable conversation with the technician, though she claimed that our woods is mostly deciduous even though it is decidedly evergreen.  She said all the appropriate things when she was introduced to my friends at the concert.

            Today I felt the pangs of loss.  I began to realize more about how quickly Mom’s world is narrowing.  I got a little irritated with the every thirty-second repeats of questions and comments throughout the day.  I got a little afraid when she wasn’t waiting for me.  I felt a little embarrassed when, at the end of most of the concert pieces, she exclaimed rather loudly, “Wasn’t that great?”  I felt a little bad when she decided from sitting in the sanctuary of the United Methodist Church for the concert that she felt at home and wants to start going to church there.  (How would we manage that?) 

Today I felt more than a little sad.  Today felt like the beginning of the end.