It's Wednesday, Mom
Around and around and around the conversation goes, into tighter and smaller concentric circles until we are just stepping all over ourselves in this little space in the middle.
And then boom! my mind snaps like a spring out of a watch because there is nowhere left to go.
And then we start over....same subject, same question, same answer, same ending.
The only difference I see is that the time between forgetting is getting shorter and shorter.
When are you coming home?
When is John getting here?
It's like being in the proverbial white padded cell with no windows and a tape recording of Who's On First? plays over and over and over.
It's so sad, but I don't know who it's more sad for, her or me. At least she is oblivious.
Many times I. Just. Can't. Take. It.
What is it like for her, I wonder? When I ask if she knows she just asked me that question, she truly doesn't remember. Sometimes she accuses me of making it up, as if I'm playing tricks on her.
I ask her, do you know you're not remembering? Sometimes she says, well, maybe I'm not.
So I say, It's Wednesday, Mom.