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I don’t remember living here

In my hope of keeping my parents out of taxi-cabs back to their town house, I planned a field trip. My mom keeps revisiting the topic of getting to the town house to pack up some final items. We have gone through this song and dance now for weeks. However, they are beyond the point of being able to plan and pack. We have moved all those items that used to be the reason they had to return to the town house to their apartment at the retirement community.

I will listen to things my mom says and start a list on the refrigerator. My parents have never added one item to the list I start. The last list consisted of blue Christmas balls so they could finish decorating their tree.

When we leave after our visit, my mom remarks “I don’t remember living here.” I want to scream at first. I have worked to dampen their urge to return to the town house fearing for their safety, and wanted to avoid another lost wallet incident. However, this remark haunts me.

I am unable to comment. She pushes to return for things she can’t name and when we leave, she comments that she doesn’t remember when they used to live there. It simply strikes me that her dementia is marching on. Minded.

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