I think it's safe to say Mom is gone

Mom has been in "care facility" almost two months now. I don't know if she is adjusting or not. I can't tell because, well, Mom is pretty much gone.

She is always so happy to see me when I visit. She springs up from her chair (as much as an almost 91 year old can spring), throws her arms around my neck and cries for a moment.  She does this with each of my sisters when they visit as well. There is no way of knowing if they are tears of joy or tears of sadness.

I don't think Mom knows who we are -- we simply are familiar faces. She likes Jennifer the young woman who cares for her during the day. She pats Bob, the gentleman who sits across from her during meals, on the arm when she sits down. She sits with the other women in the lounge area and watches television with them. Today they were watching the Brady Bunch. She asks us if we are coming again when we leave. But there is no conversation. There is nothing to say. She can't tell you what she did yesterday. She can't tell you what she ate for lunch. The other day she didn't remember who Dad was.

Having no conversation is okay. Comfortable companionship is fine.

That's not to say we don't try to converse.Sometimes you grasp at straws to see where it gets you. I tried once. I decided to engage her in some small talk about our hometown and asked her something about our neighbor.

Mom became indignant and asked, "How did you know Mr. Albers?"

"I lived next door to him Mom. He was our neighbor."

"No. I lived next door to him."

"Yes Mom. So did I. I lived with you. I am your daughter."

"Well, if you say so. I'll take your word for it." Those were her words anyway. Her face looked more like she was thinking, "You are a lying sack of shit."

I think life has settled into a routine for her. My older sister visits and they work on puzzles together. My younger sister visits after work and stays until dinner time. I arrive and the first thing that comes out of Mom's mouth is, "Where are we going?"

Mom loves to go places. She doesn't care where. She just wants to go out for coffee and take a little ride. There are no familiar places to go so we drive around. Sometimes she remembers things. Sometimes she does not.

My granddaughter and I take her to the little country church in Glenn each Sunday. Glenn is a tiny town that consists of a deli/party store, a restaurant, an old-fashioned hardware store, a hair salon, two antique stores, a real estate office, a three-room school and the Methodist church.

When Dad retired they moved to Glenn and became very active in the church. Mom loved it there. She always was one to be involved in the church and the community, and with Dad retired the two of them did a lot together. And the church community embraced the newcomers.

Dad and several of the men in church built the handicap ramp so the elderly woman who ran the hardware store in town would not have to use the stairs each Sunday. It really offended Dad when she never used the ramp.

Mom baked cookies for church bake sales, hosted fund-raising teas and worked at church rummage sales. The months leading up to the annual Christmas Bazaar both Mom and Dad were busy making craft items to be sold.

The other Sunday as we rounded the curve into town Mom saw the sign designating the entrance. I watched her mouth the words "Glenn."

We pulled into the church parking lot and she said, "Have I been here before?" I assured her she had been there before and she usually enjoyed it.

"Okay," she said. "I'll take your word for it."