I Get To Be With Her

She sits there, allowing me to hold her hand. Not really sure who I am, my mother nevertheless seems to find comfort in my presence. How difficult it was for her when she was in that twilight that comes with early-stage dementia, knowing that her mind was slipping away, that she should know people she didn't, especially her own son and daughter. But now that time has passed, a small blessing I suppose, so that she's content to not know as long as things don't get too confusing to her, so that she becomes agitated.