We are in Door County -- third day here. A year ago when we were here, I got a call that Mom had fallen, and I contemplated driving down to sit with her in the ER. I didn't go, thank goodness. Those days, I hope, are behind me.
She seems improved. She has more energy than she has had, and will choose to stay up and commune with her friends in the penalty box after church, when before she would have sought the refuge of bed. She chats, tries to engage people, often not making much sense. But the tone is right. What's sad is the state of her friends. A couple of them have sunk to non-verbal states and sit with pasted-on smiles.
We celebrated her birthday Aug. 20 -- on the actual day. Mom has always been a big one for her birthday -- keeping track, making sure it's not just noted, but celebrated. So I brought flowers, chocolate cake, an outfit Julie had picked out, and dark-chocolate-covered almonds. It was enough. She got flowers and calls from a lot of the people she knows.
Her eating has become a problem. She puts food in her mouth, chews, but doesn't swallow. I urge her to drink water, but it's really hard to help. I asked her doctor a few months ago, "What does it mean to say someone dies of Parkinson's?" He said, "They can't eat."
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