We Put Our Noses Together

   Maybe it will help just to whine. Just to complain. 

   This is tiring. I am tired of this.

   I have energy, and there were plans I was trying to pursue, to be more businesslike with my ceramics, to learn more software and maybe Spanish and be more employable. To shore up the wall.

But instead, three years into my mother’s dementia I spend each week in denial (about the coming duty that I will drive to Sherwood again and bring Mom new flowers again and check in on her again and be seen checking in on her yet again so the aides will not consider her last in their duties) ... 

• and then in dread, which makes me short tempered and potentially gloomy and unable not to download gloom on the incautious co-worker who doesn’t realize what’s happening to my family and asks ... 

• and then in resignation ...
• and then in her room, in charm and humor and puzzlement, trying to memorize and to deduce ... 

• and then escaping, feeling briefly relief ... 

• and then dogged by the recognition of my ingratitude (skating away and leaving her stuck in her predicament and missing everything). 

• And then I am wrecked for the rest of the day.

   The cycle restarts. 

   I have each week two new loads of her mail to sort through and think about. Shouldn’t the accountant have her taxes ready to file by now? Why hasn't the traveling dentist called me yet?

   What else is there to think about that I have forgotten to think about because I do not want to?

   Does everyone expect that because I am willing to do this, or must do this, it is being done well? 

   Today she said, a few times, while looking right at me, “You look like you are related to our family.” And she said, a few times while looking right at me, “Do I look like you?” And she said, while showing me her teeth, “Are they all there?” 
   And she said many, many times while looking at something on the wall, “That is the time we all put our noses together and made a beautiful picture.” 

   She sang a snippet from Frère Jacques, “Sonnez les matines.” And I sang, “Sonnez les matines.” 
   But they were not ringing for me.