Talking with the unseen

My mom's meds, or her metastases, or the dying process have resulted in her seeing people out of the corner of her eye. Sometimes it's the same person as the one sitting in front of her. Other times, she thinks it's someone else.

"It just happened again," she said tonight as we were chatting after having had bowls of oatmeal for dinner. "I saw someone, just over there." She nodded toward her left shoulder. I allowed as to how that must be a little disconcerting. "Yes," she said, "But I don't think of it as a bad thing. I keep thinking it's your dad. Or maybe Thia Dimitra."(That's my dad's aunt--"thia" means "aunt" in Greek. Dimitra was my father's true guardian angel, a blessing of a woman who died years ago.) We spoke lovingly of Thia for a moment, and then Mom said, "I saw her just today when I was leaving the living room. She looked at you, and then back at me, and she said 'What are we going to do with out her?'"

My mom gets lonely at times, I can tell. Tonight as the wind scoured branches against the house, she said "If you get scared, you can come sleep with me." "OK," I replied. Then later, just as she was sliding under the covers, she said "Are you sleeping in here, or out there?" I was restless, wanting to write and tire myself out enough to sleep. I know if I slept in her room, I'd just stay awake all night listening to her breathe. So I told her I'd sleep here in my old room through the night, then join her for a nap in the morning before she gets up.