The other night I stopped in to see my mother. The staff almost gleefully handed me a cup of chocolate pudding and said, "Would you like to feed her?"
Lately she is having trouble opening her mouth, and she takes forever to eat, so I am sure the nurse and aide were delighted to pass that job on to someone else.
As I fed my mother, I realized she had no idea who I was. We made small talk about the weather, and her friend L, who knows all of us but thinks she is employed by the facility, chatted with us for a while.
Another lady, A, was drinking a cup of juice. My mother watched her, mostly because there was little else to do. A said, "What are you doing? Why are you watching me?"
Mom said, "No reason."
A said, waving her cup, "Haven't you seen anyone eat bacon like this before?"
Mom looked a bit befuddled. L rolled her eyes.
Eventually my mother asked me, "Does your mother know what you're doing?"
I will never lie to anyone, but I have gotten amazingly facile with how I tell the truth. "I'm not sure," I told her. "But I know she's seen me do it."
"Of course," A said, "your mother always knows if you're misbehaving."
"Good point," I told her. "Moms are smart that way."