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Sunday, February 8, 2015


 over and over and over
old stories meshed together
ending with dot com

During my Mom's last weeks of life her mind failed her.  Stories spilled out in convulsed masses of words. The sound of her voice was pitched about an octave above her normal sound.  The stories were often the same words repeated again and again and again.  Because she had watched so much television her stories ended with "dot com".  That was a God send of comic relief for us sisters as we rotated our vigil over our Mom.  

For days the stories jumbled and tumbled out of her mind.  Stories of long ago happenings that we had never heard before in our lives.  One was a secret she had sworn to never tell.  It spilled out.  Obvious negative feelings spilled out as well with an aggressive edge in the sound.  Repeated stories of long ago slights from unknown people.

There were stories of pride in grandchildren and great grandchildren.  One grandchild was touring the Holy Land which was true.  His being accompanied by Roseanne and Dan from "Roseanne" was a result of the TV show being on at the time.  Great grandsons going to college with one focusing on medical research was true.  He along with his brother and mother living in a hole had no element of truth.  Sister was told I was addicted to the computer and refused to put water in Mom's reach.  Truth, I watched Netflix in the darkened room.  The staff and I had moved items out of Mom's reach to keep her from knocking over or throwing them on the floor.  She had water next to her on the bed tray but did not think to reach for it.

Prior to last year, Mom was called on from many places to give historical facts.  Mom remembered dates and facts like a savant.  She could tell us the clothing we were wearing at certain events.  During one visit with a granddaughter she named all the presidents of the USA in order from Washington to Obama.  Shortly after that day all the connections broke down.  BIL was doing manicures and suing Green Bay Packers for besting the Cowboys in the game.  

On the last evening of her life she said to me, "Jannie, I feel like I have a hole in my brain."  She told me she wanted to sit in her own chair.  She planned to get up and walk out of the place the next morning.  She wanted to not wake up she said.  Asked if she wanted to watch something, her response was clear, "MSNBC."  When I told her it was not available that only Fox was on the TV she groaned something like "trash". 

 I heard maybe 10 other sounds that last night.  Most were indistinguishable sounds.  Except for the sound of pain as she was rolled to her side to have a bed linens and bandage change.  She begged me to make them stop.  I wish I could have made them stop but the bandage and diaper had to be changed.  Those are hard last words to remember.  Yet they play over and over and over in my mind.  "Jannie, make them stop hurting me."  

This writing is too late to be submitted for the prompt from Chèvrefeuille.  But I still wanted to share.  To process my thoughts.

Peace to all who read.

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