She sits bravely in the table, chatting and flashing her smile, cheerfully polite.
One of her companions dozes, the other tries to stir to a conversation with the attendants.
Her face lights as we enter the room.
Hugs, kisses and a struggle for the walker.
We cross the gulf to the armchairs and she settles, gracefully relieved, into their embrace.
"How are you?"
"Did it take long to get here?"
"It's lovely to see you"
Never "How long are you here with me?", the unasked question.
The little lies of family.
The body betrays. Shakes and twitches involuntary.
Sliding down, risking a fall to the floor and more bruising.
But, today, the mind is sharp, trapped, hungry to know of her children and grandchildren.
Missing her other half, yet knowing he needs time to sleep and recover.
Bravely missing him, seldom apart in the last fifty years.
Smiles and cheerful happiness as the youngest grandchild entertains with his cheek.
Hugs, and meaningful quietness.
Time flies, yet the clock hands seem to crawl around their perimeter.
Rain beats down, and the journey beckons.
Slowly we rise, reluctant.
She follows us with a train of attendants to the door.
Embraces, kisses and farewells. we tear apart again.
She waves, smiling, bravely, happily, before returning to the chairs.
We drive off into the rain, wondering if she'll be there next time we visit.
Wondering whether the Lewy Bodies will have stolen her mind from the treacherous shaking cage.
Hoping she can be home.
The rain masks my tears, and the journey lulls me with the promise of a beach.
Visited Mum on Friday. She is in respite care while my Dad tries to get his batteries recharged. She bravely resists the Parkinsons. We were fortunate that her Lewy Body dementia was minimal when we saw her. It was lovely and hard to see her.
17 August 2019