she got lost in the woods today, even though you told him that moving would disorient her even more. she went down to the pond, in 90 degree heat, by herself. he calls the police, but finds her, finally, stumbling up the rise toward your new digs, using a tree limb as a cane, a strange stone tucked into her pocket. she’s calling for help. she can’t remember why she walked away into the woods. she says she had a reason. but she can’t remember. she can’t remember. you are 86 miles away, your stomach in knots.
We will get through this. We will get through this. We will get through this.
I will blog my way through it.
Boy, Lily, you’re getting way ahead of me, posting-wise.
I know your name is Elaine, but Calla and Lily are good names, too. Mom also is a good name, except when its mind wanders and takes its body with it.
WE will get through this, kid. I’m here to help.
I would say something grumbly about just how that happened except that I know a certain male relative of ours would get all ticked off if I did.
LOL! heeheeheeeeeeeee…
***
Poor thing. I feel so bad for her. For both of you. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to call out for help, out of a sense of overwhelming anxiety and desperation and panic — not knowing where I was … or where I was going.
Oh, wait. I know exactly what that feels like.
It’s good she has you to cast a safety net around her and that other relative who shall remain anonymous, whose net needs darning.
Um, to clarify: I was laughing at your son’s comment, not the situation.