More Bumpa

Everytime I speak to my Mom, she cries. She used to say she had to hang up because she would cry if we talked, but now I insist she stay on the phone, tears or no tears. My entire life I think I saw my Mother cry maybe three times. She didn't pretend not to be sad, she simply did not cry. Now she cries each time we speak, sometimes three calls in a day. Today the topics were: insurance, diabetes and Depends. Which one of those brings a smile to any face? My siblings sort of dance around when they talk to Mom, but she and I have gotten so deeply involved the past six months or so, it's like nothing for a conversation to begin, "When I die I want you to..." It isn't fun, but it takes the power out of it, I think.

I'm working on Dad's Boy Scout award. I can't remember if I've written about that already, so I'll recap: In the late 1940s, Dad was an Eagle Scout on his way to earning the Bronze Palm. He was two badges short when he went to Germany with the Army and he never made them up. The badges were for Journalism and Printing, two things that became my Dad's profession for several decades. I've tapped the Boy Scouts to help but have gotten very little response. Now, I've actually asked for Oprah's help. She seems like someone who can get something done. I don't want a lot of hoopla and trust me, neither does my Dad. I just want him to get the award while it still matters. Alzheimer's is such a weird illness. Dad has talked of nothing but the Boy Scouts for three weeks. He sings a marching song to my Mom every night at bedtime. He knows the names of his Scoutmaster and the other Scouts he earned Eagle with. But, can he remember why he went up the stairs? Nope.