#dementiaville 15
I’ve had this recurring dream in which I discover an auditorium-sized room in my apartment or house. In last night’s dream, my kitchen (which was a compilation of several kitchens throughout my life) morphed into a concrete warehouse nearly 2 stories high, with a skylight and a pile of winter sand in the middle of the space with lots of shovels . . . I guess a shrink would say there’s a big empty space in my ‘house’ where mom once was (although truthfully it could be a number of other things contributing to my general state of anomie.)
[caption id="attachment_252" align="alignleft" width="225"]
Mom in our 1962 kitchen. Stainless steel sink was all the rage.[/caption]
Mom and I skyped last weekend, for 4 minutes. My sis set her laptop up in the Elizabeth dining room so we could all say ‘hi’. There was mom (who I haven’t seen since Easter) wandering around the dining room while the aide and the cook and my sister tried to steer her in the direction of the laptop. She didn’t ‘get’ my presence . . . people telling her that I was ‘in the screen’. When the aide finally led her over to the screen, though, she put her hand on it . . . I could see the lifelines on her palm. Maybe she thought she could touch me. Afterwards, we chatted on the phone . . . it seemed like something she could accept more easily than a face on a screen. And when we said goodbye, she told me, ‘Don’t forget to tell me where I am going.’