My mom had a stroke part 43: However it comes, whatever it means.
It’s the summer solstice today. The longest day in what feels both like the longest year and a year vanishing like a rapidly crumbling bridge behind us.
Lately, my mom’s been in a world of her own. There are flashes where she sees us, where she knows we are there, but largely her stare is blank. Often, her gaze lingers outside, where the dense trees shake their full leaves in dappled sunlight.
“Have you seen a lot of animals outside?” I asked her.
Two blinks. No.
“Me either,” I said.
Did I really see those blinks? I can’t tell you for sure.
Her numbers are good, they have been, but she’s just not as alert. My dad says she goes through these phases like a kind of reboot, the wires reconnecting, and then we have a string of very interactive days.
When I tell her how Republicans are flailing, though, or give her details into the January 6 investigations, or tell her about Peter Navarro’s attempts to get out of his criminal trial for his book tour, she stretches dramatically and forces her eyes wide open to look at me.
“Go on,” I swear they tell me.
But if we’ve learned anything in the weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks, it’s that my…
