Monday 23 May 2005
11:06 pm

Dad buzzed me through the main gate last night. Bill Richardson was on CBC radio; there was talk of ice cream, so I parked my van and sat listening, because Mom loves ice cream. She has eaten it virtually every day for some years.

Queen Victoria was the person who popularized it, apparently. She liked ice cream so much, the dish became a favourite in England. There is a book coming out called Cool and it is all about ice cream.

More interesting stuff followed, and I was enjoying it so much I didn't want to go in, but to hear more. So I sat and listened until I saw Dad coming across the parking lot with a questioning look, wondering why I hadn't come up yet. I had forgotten he'd be expecting me immediately.

It was a great radio show (it's Bill Richardson, after all; one expects nothing less. That man is fabulously entertaining) but I didn't sit in my vehicle till the end. I listened until he played a song that included the words "hokey pokey man" and it did not keep my attention. Even though it was somehow connected to ice cream lore.

***

Gorgeous full moon out there tonight.

***

You are waiting to hear about Mom.
From the foot of her bed, I gave her a huge bright smile, and she gave me one back.

***

She looks very ill; but when I am not with her, I am in my mind's eye seeing her face smiling and healthy. It is almost peculiar, as if ... well I don't know how to explain it. It is as sharp as a snapshot, yet not one I recall ever seeing.

Before I left (one of the three or more times I was there today), I leaned in and kissed her cheek and said "I sure love you, Mom."

"That I know," she said, and dipped into sleep.

***

Cameron has arrived from Edmonton.

***

I might go to Mom's bedside tomorrow, and not leave it unless she kicks me out. She has been doing that today; telling us she wants to be left alone to sleep. We obey.

Mom and Dad's house has been Grand Central Station for several days. It is busy, but feels as right as it is possible for anything to feel right, these days. Mom's children and grandchildren are coming and going; her brother and sister are there; nurses and home care aides are daily in and out; and of course, Dad.

Friends and family are phoning all day; my god, a lot of people care about Mom and Dad.

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