R.I.P.

I’m not looking forward to getting Hilda up this morning. Mornings are when she is the sharpest. That’s typical for someone with short-term memory loss. In the morning the mind is at its freshest and things are easier to remember. As the day wears on, things slip away.

So, the odds are good that, this morning, as I help her and her walker navigate the hallway towards the bathroom, she’ll say something like, “I wonder how my husband is doing”. If I’m lucky, she won’t ask until she’s dressed and sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for her breakfast, because the conversation will seem a little more dignified at the table. But whenever she asks, I’ll gently remind her that he passed away a couple days ago. She’ll tear up again and say, “He was always such a good man”, like that somehow should have protected him from dying two weeks before he turned 94.
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