Time of Death

I visited Mum yesterday.

“Sorry your mother died,” she said.

“No, no, you’re my mother; I’m your son – remember?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “Sorry to hear of your mother’s death,” she said a moment later.

“No,” I repeated, “you’re my mother.”

“Oh,” she said. “How long have I been dead?”

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15 thoughts on “Time of Death

  1. This is about as close as I get to reportage – regrettably. It seemed such a poignant question. The other day she said, ‘You don’t die all at once – which makes it hard.’ I thought that was also quite tragically brilliant as an observation. These comments come in the middle of a lot of repetitive confusion….

    Liked by 1 person

      1. 😦 Reading it, I was taken back to visiting my Great-Grandmother and how she’d began mistaking me for my older cousin. I’d correct her, she’d say my name once, then my cousin’s again. Or, she’d mutter on about things that made no sense and she’d say right in the middle, “I know who you are. I love you, Tremaine.”

        I’m tearing up typing this. Man, oh man. Peace be with you.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. This resonates with me as well, in relation to my father in law. But in a way it’s a mercy for the mind to shut out so much reality for if it didn’t, I fear the pain of it all would drive him to drastic self harm actions.

    Liked by 2 people

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