Signs of decline

Under the Brise Soleil
On the lakefront. 

She sits slumped in her chair, speaking softly sometimes, but never able to complete a thought. She can't say when she needs to go to the bathroom, so you guess, or smell, or constantly offer. In church today she roused herself only for a few bits of The Lord's Prayer. Our Sunday tradition of sweet-roll pieces soaked in coffee has declined to, most often, me giving her small forkfuls.

Up in her room today, after church, the Bistro visit and a messy bathroom session helped out by an aide, she sat in her chair in the middle of the room, gesturing, saying, "I want ... I want ... I want." I guessed again and again. Your warmer shirt? A drink of water? A kleenex? To go out? Should I read? It turned out to be the small colorful pillow she likes to keep on her lap.

I cling to moments that are better than bad. I made her laugh Thursday by rubbing noses with her and making a wild-eyed grimacing face. And this week, a nurse got her walking in the hallway, held by a strap around her back, with an aide pushing the wheelchair behind her in case she needed to sit.

It is unspeakably sad. I have trouble getting myself to go. JV went for me yesterday, and I took a long, therapeutic bike ride.

Our Sunday routine