Mom's brain was working at top speed today, skittering off in many directions.
I brought her to my house at about 1 pm to eat a snack and talk with my youngest daughter while the dog ran around them.
Here are some samples of the conversation.
"It must be kind of crowded in heaven," Mom says.
"No, I think there's a lot of space there," says Marie. "Unlimited access, like the internet."
"Interesting idea, Marie," I interject.
""I think it's very true," she continues. "Heaven is like the internet. If I make a website and my computer crashes, the website still exists."
"I don't think I can send you letters when I go there," Mom comments.
"Well, I guess not," says Marie kindly. "I think you can talk to us, though, whenever you want to. We'll just hear you in our minds, like the way animals and humans understand each other."
"Do you know Page 141? I make everyone memorize it," Mom continues.
"No, what is it?" Marie asks.
"Page 141: The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He telleth me where to go and what to do and what to do about it...."
"Oh!" Marie and I chorus.
~ ~ ~
"I need a Kleenex," says Mom, fishing in her purse as she sits at the table.
For some reason I am not listening to her; I don't jump up to set a box of tissues in front of her.
Suddenly she says, "There! I wiped my nose on the P.E.O. Sisterhood."
"No, you didn't!" I cry in horror, turning to her.
Indeed she is holding her small lavender P.E.O. booklet of names, addresses, and upcoming events. There is a dark brown smudge on the cover.
"Why did you do that?" I ask.
"Why? It needed to be done," she comments blankly. "Sacrilege, huh?"
~ ~ ~
As I drive her back to her residence, Mom is talking about my brother Jim's wedding again. She was talking about it yesterday. Perhaps her caregiver put the videotape of the wedding into her television.
"Jim cried as he slit the penis/vaginal opening," she says.
"What--why?!" I comment numbly, wondering what on earth brought this up.
"Because he didn't want to hurt her," Mom says. "I don't know why that was part of the wedding. I didn't think that was appropriate at all."
~ ~ ~
Now she is worried about some problem she will find in her room when we get back there.
"I'll have to get down on my hands and knees to crawl to the box," she says.
"What box?" I ask.
"That big case of diapers," she says.
"There's no case of diapers in your sitting room," I say firmly. The rest of today's conversation may have been insane, but here I am on solid ground. "It would not be a good idea for you to get on your knees and crawl to anything. Your Depends are in your bathroom, two packs of them, each pack in a plastic wrapper."
"No, they're in my room in a box," she says. "You'll see when we get there."
I give up.
Conversation is just not possible.