Except ... when I wheeled her chair back inside (she spends most of her days now with her wheelchair at the edge of her door, table of Lays and generic lemon-lime pop, watching everybody go up and down the hallway -- it's like people-watching from your front porch, except, you know, she's in a nursing home) today and she began to talk, she spoke in English. First she said, "When you come up here, you have to think about what you're going to say." Huh. And then she said, "No matter what you say or what you do outside, tell people I am happy to be here."
And then she reverted back to Vietnamese and, like several times before, her voice started to crack and her eyes began to moisten. She was sad about ... something, but again, because I can't understand her, I don't know what. Maybe she isn't happy to be there as she said.
I wonder sometimes how lonely she is. Also, are they drugging her up in an effort to make her docile? Because that might make her even more confused and lonely.
I don't know if growing old is worth it.
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