The weather relented enough for me to go visit my parents yesterday. I had a nice time. My mother was sweet and funny, cracking jokes in her language that only she got, and her laughter was infectious. I couldn't help to laugh along. My dad continues to buy her new clothes and he takes the time to have them tailored for her. She really looked sharp.

When I got to the house she was happy to see me and wanted to be engaged with me. We were going to go to lunch, and there was a slight delay getting out of the house because she had taken one of my dad's gloves and hidden it somewhere. "Go and get your purse and look in there for my other glove. Do you know where my glove is Sweetheart? Is it in your purse? Go and get your purse and see if my glove is in there." My dad did a few rounds repeating this. It's not unusual for him to talk to her like that and it is not unusual for me to alternate between wanting to scream at him "SHE CAN'T FUCKING UNDERSTAND YOU!!" and feeling terribly sad for him.

We went to a dingy diner they like where everything feels weird and dirty and yet familiar and nonthreatening. There is a bleak, cloudy, giant fish tank when you first walk in that houses four enormous gold fish and nothing else. The waitress appeared to be around 70. Her hair was beautiful and her lipstick was on the coral side and she walked like her feet had been hurting since breakfast. She clearly knew my parents and was sweet and patient with them. My dad ordered my mother a mountainous waffle stacked high with syrupy apple slices and whipped cream, and I held my breath as I waited to see if my mother would remember how to use her silverware, or just go in with her hands. She struggled at first with her fork, but got the hang of it, and when I went to cut her food for her my dad kindly took over, and the waitress brought them extra silverware without being asked as if they had all done this dance dozens of times before. No one thought twice when Mom used her sweater instead of a tissue to wipe her nose. It was safe there.

We ran some errands, including going to one of those huge hardware stores people without dementia easily get lost in. I held my mother's hand through most of this and it felt good. Her gnarled hands were warm and small in mine. We all marveled at the self serve machine that cuts keys. At one point my dad got a few steps away from her and when she turned to look for him, he briefly fell out of her sight. "Where is my husband?" she asked. "Right there," I said, "in the overcoat and hat. Doesn't he look handsome?" "YEAH HE DOES!!" she said lustfully. "He looks GOOD!!"

We went back to the house and when she saw I had brought my mandolin she asked me to please, please play them some songs and I did, and she was happy.

And then, we watched the old home movies my dad had asked my husband to convert to DVD. I am 10 years younger than my next sister, and it was very interesting to watch who we were before "we" included "me." Everyone was so young. I kept looking for signals of who everyone would turn out to be. But this was not a documentary meant to educate the youngest sibling yet to be born, it was the things that mattered to the person working the camera at that moment. Landmarks, zoo animals, camping trips. "Look!" my dad said to my mother "there's your dad! And your mom! Look Honey! At the TV!" But my mother couldn't get it. She looked out the window, puzzled. Their obnoxious black lab began to demand to be fed, barking her sharp, piercing bark into my dad's face, like two cymbals crashing together. He tried to ignore the dog. "Look! There's your cousin!" he said to my mother. The dog barked and barked and barked. Like a nail into my head. My mother struggled to understand. My dad, defeated, moaned and went to feed the dog. Coming back into the room he closed all the blinds, trying to drive my mother's focus towards the tv, and images of her past that now meant nothing to her.

I had to go. I had plans at home and so I packed up my mandolin, and put my coat on, and started towards the door. My mother stopped me and held my hand. She looked right into me. Her eyes were so blue. Funny, she used to say that about her own dad when he was old and tired. That his eyes were so blue. She rambled something and in the middle of it was "I DO love you. So much." "I know, Mom" I said. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so…" and she knocked on the side of her head and stuck her tongue out to the side, tears welling in her eyes. I took her face in both my hands and said the same thing she would have said to me "Listen to me. You have NOTHING to apologize for. Nothing. You are good. I love you very much." I pulled her into me and she rested her head on my breast. It was like holding my child. She smiled.

I got into my car and my mother stood there on the other side of their storm door, smiling and waving and blowing kisses at me. Like when I would drive away to go back to college. From inside my car I told her, goodbye Mom. I love you.