By Leslie Sittner
I’m at my desk when Mother finds me, Petra close by her side. “Doctor, we need to go out.”
Five times this morning already.
Their coats are well-worn, shabby. Mother’s fluffy cotton-ball hair is white; Petra’s is wavy salt-and-pepper.
I unlock the back door, pocket the key.
They shuffle outside, stand motionless together, staring around the yard. With Petra’s head snuggled against her hip, Mother gentles her with tender stokes. Mother has never liked the dog until recently.
I wait patiently.
They exchange slow confused looks, turn around, wary, shuffle back inside.
Dementia has robbed them both of our prior relationships.
The years do have their way of taking their tolls. All too often our Golden Years and made a lot less golden. Sometimes that’s part of life, and the writer must have the courage to look at all aspects of life/the human condition. Nice Job, Leslie.
This sad state of aging is nicely captured in this.