Sunday, June 21, 2015 

Sergeant Schultz and my mother have something in common. She knows nothing! I joke now, but a few minutes ago, I was crying. The thought of aging like my mother is extremely depressing. This morning, she denied ever having done a word search puzzle, saying she could never do those puzzles.

As it turns out, last night was a horror—for Rob. I was away. I had driven my neighbor Betty to her grandson’s dance recital. It was one of those 4-hour ordeals, but the second half featured the older dancers and the instructors and was quite nice. I was tired after a day’s work, but I could never leave Betty. Her mother had abandoned her when she was 5 years old and Betty faces terror every time she is left alone when she is away from home. Betty still has recurring dreams about being lost and abandoned. Even though her son and daughter-in-law could have driven her home, I was the one who drove her there. To have left her side would have approached abandonment and might have triggered one of her nightmares. So I stayed.

We rode home together in the driving rain. I took a wrong turn in the dark—unfamiliar territory at night. But we made it, and Charlie was waiting at the door for Betty at their house.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Rob recounted Valentino’s tromp through the neighborhood. Apparently, the back gate had swung open and Val found freedom. As intoxicating at the night might have been for Val, Rob wasn’t too thrilled. He and one of our neighbors went in search and found him returning home from a visit to Betty’s house.

On top of that, mom had one of those nights with frequent trips to the bathroom. Rob had to clean the bathroom four times and finally had to change mom’s nightgown. I felt terrible for Rob being left with this onerous task.

This morning, I showered mom, then sat her at the kitchen table, where even now she is reading the microwave clock over and over. What time is it? 10:43? Oh! The time is a continued concern for her, perhaps because she has so little time left.

Mom had pulled her word search book open and asked who had filled out all the puzzles. I told her that she had. But she insisted that she had never done one in her life. Rob assured her she had and then went downstairs to get more coffee for the Keurig. As soon as he left, mom asked whether Rob was up yet. I reminded her that she had just spoken with him. Mom looked at me blankly.

I myself feel much like Sissy in “Quartet,” who remarked about Beecham Home for Retired Musicians, saying, “I have no husband and no children. This place is a godsend. It’s all I have.” Sissy, however, had Beecham House, where she could still perform or listen to lovely music. My prospects are far more meager. I cried this morning as I listened to the Schumann piano concerto. Beautiful music. At this writing, however, I am listening again and more at peace. In the same film, Reginald (“Reg”) remarked about aging: “It’s what we all do.” Maggie Smith’s character was not easily consoled when she was reminded that she had repeated something, and I understand completely. If this is where we are headed…

Last night, it was actually refreshing—opon reflection—to have seen young people forge ahead with life, totally unaware of what will lie ahead. Thank God they are unaware. Still, it’s wonderful to reflect that there is life ahead. That something can still be accomplished while you can. Tony Randall noted that he wrote his first book, had a child, and realized his dream to revive plays on Broadway at the age of 70. It was a remarkable accomplishment and an uplifting observation. We can all still do something. What, I don’t know. How many more lives we will touch, I don’t know.

But for mom, she is locked in this tiny little world, moment to moment, and each moment is a new one. Then again, maybe she isn’t locked up at all. Maybe mom, like Valentino had for a short while last night, found freedom for the short while she has left to live.