Mom seems more confused and anxious than ever. Barbara, her former neighbor, who will stay here this weekend while we're away, says that Mom has asked her to drive her to Pittsburgh, "where my lawyers are." Mom has just one lawyer, and she is in Meadville.
I listened to Mom for a long time yesterday, trying to allay her worries. Mom is afraid that when she loses her sight completely, she will have to move to Wesbury, a continuous-care facility in Meadville. She plans to call Peg, a volunteer she knows from Wesbury, to find out what Wesbury is like now, but, oh dear, maybe Peg no longer volunteers there. (Mom volunteered at Wesbury for over 20 years.)
She thinks she must put "this house" on the market, but feels overwhelmed by the task. She wishes that her brother, Cliff, were still alive, because "Cliff always took care of these things for me." (He may have given occasional advice, but Mom competently managed her own affairs for more than 20 years of widowhood.)
She lives with us, in her own little suite of rooms, and yet she says, "I don't have a home of my own anymore." None of this makes sense, of course. Although I assured her that she will live in our house for the rest of her days, I am not sure that she believes or trusts the messenger. I am not a "blood relative." I'm just a step-daughter.
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