Look for your phone

I called mom tonight. They are driving over here to visit tomorrow.

He follows me around and I tell him to help me look for his phone and he doesn’t do it. He doesn’t even try. Then I tell him I’m talking on the phone and to take the dog inside and he tells me he is, but he isn’t. He’s just following me around…I’m talking to Shana, take the dog inside….and there, he’s not doing it.

Mom.

He just isn’t even listening.

Mom.

And I keep telling him.

Mom. The words don’t mean anything to him. He can’t look for his phone. He can’t put the dog inside. He doesn’t know what the words mean. And mom, he follows you around because you are the only thing he recognizes. You are the only thing he recognizes.

I’m just trying to talk to him so he can help me.

You will never talk to him again. Not like you remember him. You will never talk to him, the him you remember, again. He’s gone, mom.

So I never talk anymore? It’s all meaningless?

No. You talk. And you will have a happy moment, or an unhappy moment, it’s up to you. Your talking now is just a happy moment. Not meaningless, not coherent though, just happy or not. It’s up to you.