I’m Between Stories

About seven years ago, the first warning sign that my mother wasn’t herself was her inclination to comply. She would ask permission (it seemed) for small, simple things. She’d look to her husband, “is this OK?”

It pricked my senses. What was happening?

I didn’t see in him as desiring to control her. They had already been through her first round of cancer together. He took on his new role and became caregiver. It didn’t make sense.

No. This was something else, this was the first symptom of Alzheimer’s settling in. Dementia has

2019-05-04T09:22:19-05:00Categories: The Innocent Prince|Tags: , , |2 Comments

I Don’t Know

My mother’s things are in disarray all around me. Her sunglasses are in the center console of my car. Her signature “Betty Boop” coat is draped over my back seat. Her purse is next to the couch in my family room.  

The clear baggie (fancy hospital luggage, I call it) holding her pictures and coloring books from her bedside is on the floor under my kitchen counter.  It’s next to Christmas gifts we haven’t yet put away. Her health took an emergency turn just before Christmas, really, and my time quickly segmented into caregiving, staging/transporting, waiting, watching,

2019-05-04T09:21:34-05:00Categories: The Innocent Prince|Tags: , , |4 Comments