She told us over the phone how “the girls” were late getting her up yesterday and that she’d barely finished her breakfast before it was time for lunch. She cannot dress or wash herself unaided. Can’t even get herself to the loo. She bares it well. Or appears to. She is caught there. Complaining is useless and probably counterproductive. She must endure. As we all must, though some undoubtedly have it worse than others. I think of her often. She is impassive, unknowable. But I can feel for her, can’t I?
