She wasn’t.
She was tired of worrying about stairs.
During my visits, we still played cards, discussed the news, and argued about whether she needed to stop drinking so much coffee.
She remembered the smallest details of my life.
She remembered the names of people I’d mentioned months earlier.
She remembered when my next assignment would begin.
Sometimes she forgot where she’d put her reading glasses.
So did I.
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That didn’t stop my father from describing her as confused whenever she made a decision he disliked.
He especially disliked the fact that she refused to finance my brother’s latest business venture.
“She has the money,” he complained after one visit. “She just doesn’t understand what an opportunity
this is.”
Nana understood.
She simply said no.
As her health declined, I visited whenever I could.
Sometimes we talked for hours.
