Other mothers painted or shopped or played bridge,
but my mama’s hobby was daddy.
She did read and garden and play the piano,
but mostly she took care of daddy.

She covered his legs with a towel while he napped in the blue chair by the window.
She brought him water while he sat in the swing.
She handwashed his orthopedic hose.
She put out fresh linen for him in the bathroom.
She had to pester him to eat, because he said he couldn’t taste much.

Every week of calendar on the desk was full of Daddy’s appointments.
They both went.
They made trips to the shot doctor, the foot doctor, the diabetes doctor, the arthritis doctor, the cancer doctor and the dentist.

Oh, the dentist!
My daddy still had his own teeth with crowns and bridges and root canals.
I don’t think he liked seeing his mama’s teeth in a glass by her bed.
(I know I didn’t.)
I kept telling him he’d driven another expen$ive car into his mouth.
I guess he just wanted to die with his teeth in.

My daddy held up the sky,
but my mama held up my daddy.

Daddy has been gone for over three years now, but don’t tell mama.

She just saw him in the cafeteria at the home. She said he was babbling and crazy. She needs help finding him to straighten him out. He is confused, she says.

Old habits are hard to break.

Mama has dementia, but everyone else is mixed up…not her.

She calls to tell us to move her car or bring the checkbook so she can write some checks.

She is still in charge of this world she imagines. She will not be distracted from her duties. She will be the boss from her wheelchair and bed. Do not argue with the boss.

She is exhausting and exhausted. Our hearts are weary. This is a tough phase.

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