[Before I begin my Monday morning tome, please make sure you visit the post about the butterflies. There is lots to see and it is worth your while. It’s here.]

Soooo, friends, I have taken a break and stayed in the world of nature and creativity, two things that keep me calm in the face of having a mother who is acting out like a bad teenager. I have to admit, that there are many days that go by where I just text with the aide or assume all is well. The aide sent me a selfie. My mom and Candy are in the photo. I recognized Candy. I barely recognized my mother. She was smiling. Her inappropriately dyed black hair (why on earth, black, dear lord?) was significantly grown out. She hasn’t had her hair done since perhaps March. My mother has a way of posing for the camera. She goes into high-fashion model-mode, and rolls her lip down over what is left of her missing teeth to hide their absence, and to stretch out any wrinkles. Her eyebrows were either drawn on, under where they should be, or there were deep, brown shadows in her eye sockets.

She reminded me of King Tut’s mummy.

I can’t unsee what I saw.

Last night as I was checking my phone, I noticed that Angela, the hospice nurse had called and didn’t leave a message. I don’t know what is worse: seeing that there was a call without a message or seeing a message. Take your pick. You know what happens: the brain turns on, into fight or flight mode—or both, and the imagination kicks in. I decided that:
Perhaps she hit my number by mistake.
Or, perhaps it was so awful that she decided not to tell me. 
But it was too late. Both scenarios invaded my tenuous mental well-being and carved a hole into my sleep, gnawing at me throughout the night. What was going on? Why would Angela call, and, not being able to reach me, give up?
I messaged her this morning. No response.

Monday, 8:00 am. Candy returned from her three days off to change places with Judy. I didn’t speak to Judy beyond Friday when she messaged that everything was OK. Actually the message was a thank-you for the check I had sent to thank her for all she does. Both aides needed to see how grateful I was. I would not be able to do their jobs.

Anyway, getting back to reality and pulling myself out of ignorance is bliss mode, I texted Candy this morning and apparently my mother had been giving Judy a hard time. So what did this 102-year old do now? She informed Judy that she would get up in the middle of the night and give her a hard time. Well, at least she was honest and had a plan for mischief rather than unplanned havoc. And true to her word, at 1:30 am, my mother awakened and tried to get up by the foot of the bed, which is closest to where the aide sleeps behind the screen.

I know nothing else. Except when Candy came in this morning “she was going on and on.”

What I’ve learned: My mother is fighting the sleeping pill. She is not eating like she used to. I remember what Angela from hospice told me last week, about eating. When a person stops eating it is nearing the end. I make excuses to myself that even I am not eating that much, because of the heat. I tell Candy. But I know deep down, in my mother’s case, the end is near.

I viewed a video by the Reverend who is in charge of her residence. They are allowing visitors into the building after months of shut doors, under strict guidelines. I don’t think I can bear it, not yet, not now.

My mother has declared that there is a dog and a cat in the room. I suppose that is far better than her usual ideations of a male intruder. It sounds childlike.

This may be what I am left with: two illusions of pets and several cases of Ensure.

📌The series starts here:
Part 1: And The Band Played On … a mother’s life, a daughter’s journey

The previous post is here

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