Lost

As I write this, my mother-in-law is seated on our couch, regarding her hands. She alternates staring at her hands and staring out the window every few minutes. Since 7am this morning, between my feeble attempts to engage her in conversation about the finches or a new recipe, ask her if she wants to read the paper, or do a crossword puzzle, or have a drink of water, or walk the boys to school with me, she has remained in nearly the same exact spot, placidly watching, as if she were in a waiting room without magazines or other patients with whom to make small talk.

These are the current of symptoms her Alzheimer's. Outwardly, she is stillness and waiting, impossible patience. Inwardly, I can only imagine what thoughts, feelings, worries, memories parade across her consciousness. And I feel increasingly awkward invading her silent reveries; she doesn't seem bothered by the hours that pass -- why should I?

Simply because it is profoundly sad to witness her definite turn inward.