Normally -- huh, look at me saying normally; what's normal anymore? -- they'd be out and out of there by 7:30, 8 at the latest. Now they're sleeping in longing than I am.
They've just stopped caring, haven't they?
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That reminds me: Last week Mother wanted my help accessing her Gmail. We were in her "office." I remember there being reams of paper, accounts and invoices, and the desktop calculator was right in the middle of everything.
Now? Virtually empty. No papers and desktop calculator is off to the side.
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Grandmother looks so depressed this morning. When I left she was at the dining room table, porcelain coffee cup in front of her, feet up on the table, staring out to the back deck. She hasn't colored her hair in a while, so the gray is climbing up the strands of her hair.
She knows she's powerless to stop getting thrown into a home.
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I was getting Grandmother her insulin syringes from the refrigerator this morning. When I open it up, I see there is nothing there. It looked empty. And very, very sad.
It looked like my parents just cleaned out the fridge of all the things Grandmother bought. I know we don't eat anything she buys, but I know Grandmother does that because she wants to feel useful. With them constantly reminded her they're going to ship her out, I think she's not going to buy things anymore. They just removed the purpose in her life out of her, for good.
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