Saturday, June 11, 2011
"If I were to introduce you to a visitor, how should I say that we are related?" my mom asked my sister timidly about three months before she died. That was in 2005. This afternoon my husband went outside to weed his formerly scrumptious gardens, now returning to weeds and seeds. When he came in, he joined me on the porch with a glass of water. His affect was open and friendly and the pall of anxiety was blessedly absent. We began "chatting", though his language, when present at all, makes very little sense. After we talked about what blooms were left in the yard, he turned to me and said, "They have let this place go quite a bit. If I get the energy, I'd like to try and fix it a little." Then he added, "Do you and your husband have your own home, and do you have flowers?"