This morning, Ma Schmidt asked me who I am. [For simplicity, I will often refer to her simply as "Ma". But remember that I am not referring to my own mother when I do so!] I gave her my name and explained that I'm a friend of her son's from college, and she was fine with that. But then she also asked where we were. I gave her the name of the town a couple of times but she couldn't hear me, so I said "Home. We're in your home."
Puzzled. "That's in [the town where she was born]!" I reminded her that she moved to this town almost 50 years ago. "Oh right. I used to own a house there. Do I still?"
"Yes. That's where we are."
"Oh." (Pause.) "Well, duh. I'm looking out the window at my own deck. Of course. But I've been on a long trip. [No she hasn't.] Is my family here?"
Schmidt walked into view, reassuring her.
She has also asked after Pa Schmidt, her late husband. [Again, for simplicity I will often call him "Pa".] Schmidt tells me that when she asked after Pa a couple of days ago, he reminded her that Pa died 17 years ago—and she was very upset. Now he just says Pa isn't here right now. When she asked me for Pa, I said, "I don't know but here's your son."
Last night she went to the bathroom several times, sometimes just a minute or two after getting back to her bed from the previous expedition. Schmidt helps clean her up after. At night he sleeps in her room, on his dad's side. (To be clear, she's not there! She sleeps on a hospital bed parked in the living room.) And apparently she had to go once at 4:00am, that I slept through. But only once, so that's good.
It's been 20 days since I left.
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