For what it's worth

June 14 is Flag Day. It's also the birthday of my friend's son. One of her sons. So last Thursday, Flag Day, I thought of her and of her son.

Friday I was in Nampa, thought I'd go to Caldwell and visit her, so I called. No answer. I left a message saying I had been thinking of her and would call another time.

I went home. She called back. I thought that was a good thing; she could call back. She might be doing better, getting better. I mean making a call is complicated, especially if you've lost your memory of things and how to do things. And she made the call. I think.

I told her I had been thinking of her and of her son because it was his birthday the day before. Right? She didn't know. She'd have to ask her husband.

Oh.  Not so good.

This was the beginning of a mixed up conversation. She had wits about her to give me advice--unsolicited, but good advice. Very sensible. But other things were confused.

For instance, she asked if she has my phone number. (She has, and I have given to her at least six times. But no matter.) I said, I'll give it to you. She got paper, muttered about finding a pencil, found one, and said she was writing. Now, that is a good thing. She can write.

But she said she does no shopping, no cooking, no housework.

I asked if she still plays the piano, because the last time I was out there, she played for me. A complicated answer, involving "When we moved . . . ".

I said, "You moved?"

"No, when we moved out here I didn't know . . . ."  And so on.  I couldn't decipher it.

They moved out there in 1974 or 5. So for a while she was way back. And not remembering clearly, because she gave piano lessons for years after they moved out there.

The short answer is no, she is not playing the piano.  That is very sad. But the whole thing is very sad.

I told her she doesn't have to answer to me; I was just interested.

She said she wanted to answer to me. But clearly she couldn't really answer at all.

They still want to go on a mission. At least she does. After all, as she said, she could do it because "You have a companion."

I'm not sure why I'm writing about this. Keeping track of it, I guess. It is hard to call, hard to visit, hard to watch her unmentaling. Anyone reading this already knows that, at least in theory.

I always think of my friend Phyllis, who knows it in reality. In fact, I visited her today. She told me she went out Sunday to celebrate her husband's birthday with him. Of course, he didn't know it was his birthday, has no idea how old he is. Hard for Phyllis to watch his disintegration.

I think of my brother-in-law, who doesn't know his own children. I only see his downward slide once in a while. My sister is daily, hourly witness.

So, it's hard for me to call my friend, hard to go see her. But I want to do it. I'm going to do it. Partly because she appreciates it so much. I suspect the day will come when she does not know me. That will be a test. For me.

She said, "Sometimes I'm scared."

I'm scared for her.