Wednesday, January 7, 2015 

Last night, she asked why Rose wouldn’t sleep with her. I assured her Rose had passed and was no longer available.

Well, who’s the other one?

What other one, mom? The only people who live here are you, me, Rob, and Valentino. Would you like Valentino to sleep with you?

No, who’s the other one? You know.

No, I don’t. And you’re going to sleep alone tonight. You’ll be fine.

Oh, OK. 

Mom has been sleeping fairly well, but she does sometimes sing at night. Sometimes she just hums. Other times she fakes her way through some Italian words. At least she is capable of entertaining herself. Thus far, she only gets up at night to use the bathroom. We keep a chain lock high on doors she should not attempt to open. Thus far, no problem with wandering.

I have taken to closing my bedroom door at night to soften the sound of her calling and waking me. Most of the time mom doesn’t recall why she called me or even that she called me. Her continued demands for tissues, inquiries about the man in the tree, and pleas to join her in bed or to tell now-deceased Rose to get in her bed have severely limited my sleep.