She had been in a nursing home for several years, deteriorating at a snail’s pace. On my annual visits, my brother and I would question the wisdom of stockpiling old people in places like this.
I hope one day I see her again, prancing in heaven.
We sit with her and we become zombies too. Not the flesh-eating kind. Just the vacant non-thinking kind because all we think about is how sad our mother’s life has become. How powerless we are to do anything about it. How much we want to get out of this place. We leave and never want to come back.
The choice became to go see her now while she’s still alive although she has no idea who I am or wait until I get the call about her funeral.
