Uneasy

Mom was disquietingly unresponsive today, sitting with her head down and to the side, saying almost nothing through church, in the Bistro, upstairs. I bought us coffee and a roll, and she had a sip of the coffee under my urging, but didn't touch the bits of roll I had cut up and soaked in coffee on her plate,  which normally she goes right at. Finally I fed her with my fork, and she ate it and seemed to like it, taking whatever I offered.

We went out to the penalty box, where aides and a few residents were gathered. Joe, over by the TV, was shouting "Hello! Hello! Hello!" which he does almost every time he's at large, and Bev, near us, was in a state, berating the staff and complaining "Why does nobody want to do any work? Doesn't anybody want to do any work?" When sweet old Vickie, sitting next to her, made a mild objection, Bev swatted her with her newspaper. Then Joe piped up, "Hello!" and Bev screamed, "Well hello yourself and who are you?"

An aide tried to take Bev down the hall but she wouldn't have it, so we all moved away.

I took Mom to the lunch table early and we sat there, just waiting, every moment like death. The one cogent thing she said to me all morning was "I want you to stay and have lunch with me," a reasonable enough request, but I'd been there two and a half hours and could not stand another minute.

Here's a story that spoke to me: https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2010/04/letting-go-of-my-father/308001/