We buy the goods after many dramatic efforts from Henry to get me to buy some crappy toy or other. We careen back to the unit, eating candy along the way with only a couple side trips: one to the bingo corral and one where Henry spreads eagle on the carpeted hallway just to feel the power of stopping the slow moving foot traffic.
Bingo is a hard thing to explain to a four year old. He watched and kept asking what all the old people were doing.
"B-29"
"It's a game", I say.
"G-10"
"Why?"
"Some people think it's fun", I try again.
"O-31"
"What are they doing?"
I start walking away, out of answers. Remarkably, he follows and holds my hand and I shower him with praise for doing so.
Back in the unit and waiting for lunch. Mom is planted at the table with her friends and we take a seat. One of her table mates is a lovely woman, the northern Minnesota version of my mother. Pleasant, pithy and quick to smile. She's pretty lucid too which is a rare commodity on the dementia unit. Mom is pretty quiet in groups now so talking with her is tough at the lunch table. I bring out some magazines for the ladies to peruse before mealtime and to get them to engage a little. It's something to talk about when topics are hard to come by. Mom is happy enough to track on Henry so I ask her table mate, M, if she likes to cook. M looks at me, her eyes sparkle and she lands this beautiful morsel:
"It irks me that I have so many side effects from the stroke and none of them prevent me from cooking."
I laugh and laugh. Henry laughs and so does mom though I don't think either of them heard or understood M's witty remark. But we laugh together anyway and we carry on.
