The Pace of Walking - Toward Meals

When my two-months-short-of-98yo mother heads to her Assisted Living dining room for meals, she races like a three-year-old. However, when we're having a conversation about something that it's somewhat important for her to remember, she remembers like a three-year-old.

For the next few days, I'll be south of Asheville, NC, getting some face time with my mother. I'm the Designated Visiting Child for March.

It's agony. It's agony to try to communicate something to her and have her nod and smile—the universal Elderly Parent sign that she didn't hear a word you said. It's agony watching her become like a toddler in her ability to communicate.

I'm sure I didn't bring enough knitting projects to keep me sane for the next few days!