“He cannot be left in the room unattended.” I suppose that since Robert is now out of quarantine, he has joined the ranks of the triaged in rehab. This morning I received a FaceTime call and was linked to Robert who was near a window lined with plants in what seemed to be a large, light-filled room. (turned out to be “the dining room”) We looked at one another. He viewed himself on the screen. He said he looked good. (I cringed.) Of course you do, I said, why not, what would it hurt?

The room was noisy, it made me uncomfortable. I could hear FaceTime conversations of other people. I could hear aides bellowing in futile frustration at a patient who kept removing his bandages and trying to stand. “Mama Mia! Oh Jesus!” said the woman with the Caribbean accent. I stopped talking and stopped trying and just listened. It is normal for staff to become stressed, I became stressed just listening to all of the noise. This is how a group of patients is maintained, where they all can be watched. Was it always like this? Was the fact that Robert had fallen out of bed many times influenced this? Likely not, but it was a new event, I had never seen this before. A corral of patients. The ones who are fall risks.

“I got the income taxes back on Sunday,” I said. In a short time he replied, “it pays to have a good accountant.” (I was pleased by that comment.)

I stopped by on Sunday, after the accountant, with a bag of newspapers, a magazine or two, a copy of Dalton’s beautiful letter and the art book I made, hoping he would connect and be able to converse.

My son and I went shopping and I missed a call. I had instructions all over the bag to please help Robert open it and sort through the stuff.

Today, when I spoke to Robert I tried to speak above the din and I mentioned the items I had brought.

Robert had no memory of seeing it.

The speech therapist came over and I told her about it. I told the social worker about it. Both said they would follow up. Let’s see.

I was told I’d have a meeting with the social worker, hopefully this afternoon to discuss a plan for the future. Is there such a thing? (it didn’t happen)

I posted this earlier on FaceBook:

Once a saver … letting go…of things and people. I dwell in the land of loss.

When I got my first MacBook Pro (Thanks for the push, Naomi.)

It sat on a table near my desk and I continued to work on my PC. I think this went on for a couple of years. I’d poke at it, look at it, marvel at it and consider suffering with my Dell. Dell gave me nothing but problems. One after the other the machines would fail and I’d have the same issue, over and over: letters and words would fly into other letters and words and embed themselves forming a new language. The language of crap.

I finally let go and never looked back. The unboxing of each product was an exciting experience. There is something very sensual about every design from paper to item. So, I SAVED these and MORE. It has been a relationship with every item. Every package.

Today I decided to just let go.

My life has changed: Every day is a huge challenge. I wake up numb but fear gnaws at me, sometimes it gets the better of me, it sickens me: It chases me and invades every moment of calm I can find. Because …

I am facing the biggie. Another loss. Of a relationship of more than forty-five years. It’s coming. The signs are visible.

To let go of a pile of boxes should be easy.

Let this be a symbol of facing the big one that’s coming, head on. Let it be a symbol of strength.

And I just remembered: today would have been my mother’s 103rd birthday.

📌The series starts here: