Sinking, Sinking...

Yesterday was my bi weekly visit to ancient Mom. I got to her condo, and, despite our frequent entreaties to her to leave her door unlocked, found it tight. I had my key, and let myself in.

We have a running sick joke in our family. Whenever several of us arrive at the condo, we shout "Not it!" so that someone else has to be the first to enter, and possibly find a deceased occupant...

That wasn't the case yesterday. I went in, and her tiny, frail frame was sitting at her dining room table, reading. I walked right up to her, and placed a book Wifey had sent in front of her. She startled a bit, and then laughed...

I sat before her to put on her shoes. She said "Very nice --a son has to put shoes on a mother." I reminded her that she shoed me at the beginning of my life, and now it was my turn.

She attempted to get out of the chair, and really couldn't. I gave her a gentle tug on the back of her pants, and she made it. I asked her how she got up in the absence of an aide, and she said she did just fine...

We went to the local deli, a true God's Waiting Room. Walkers, canes, and wheelchairs clogged the aisles. One Boca mom came in pushing a stroller, with a sleeping baby. She was clearly an older, new mom, probably in her 40s, with plastic surgery and dripping jewelry. She sat at the table next to us, and carried on a loud cell phone conversation in a nasal, New York accent.

The food is great at the Gramercy Deli, but the atmosphere sucks...

Mom and I spoke, sort of. She told tales of my California sister, until I realized she was talking about her OWN sister Florence, the only other survivor of 5 siblings...

I told her about my cruise, and my friend Eric, who is her cardiologist, and like a second son to her, and she asked me if he was still getting disability payments after leaving law. She thought I was talking about my friend Jeff...

We drove back to her condo, and sat for awhile in her Florida room. She was happy. I again broached the subject of getting her more help. She dismissed the idea outright.

I left for home, sad as always.

At dinner with Wifey, she again brought up the usual discussion about how we need to get my mother a cap-tel phone, or maybe ask Eric to order some more physical therapy for her. Wifey's right, of course, but it's not going to happen. The continual downward spiral will happen, is all.