Yesterday’s apartment purge was the right thing to do for mom in terms of her ability to navigate her space. Less is less confusing: My new mantra, as I remove magazines that are more than three months old, and clothes that are in tatters, or now too small. I still have this tremendous sense of guilt even though I know I’m making the best choices for mom, and that she’s not going to miss anything that’s removed. A three year-old New Yorker magazine, or 30 of them, please!

What grabs my heart is the continuing sense of loss, whether she perceives it or not. I do. I’m not talking about the objects removed from her apartment, but the incremental loss of what informed, made a person, that’s crumbled away as her illness has advances. She is at a point on her path where these losses aren’t causing her anxiety, for which I am very thankful ~ it’s easier on her and me. Elvis is a good example. The last time he had an overnight with us for his vet appointment (last spring), she called asking when he’d be back. She actively missed him. Less than a year later, she doesn’t know he’s gone, possibly doesn’t remember having him. And phone bill forensics tell me mom can’t use the phone any longer to call me to ask about him, which she hasn’t done.

Tomorrow, I’ll be the Depends and sock fairy, do a little more sifting in the apartment, and then sit with mom and her girl friends for part of their dinner. I’ll bring her some chocolate. She can’t go on the Tuesday shopping trips anymore due to her knee. The apartment didn’t have any chocolate in it. Gotta fix that.

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