Some of the most interesting conversations happen with my mother. Right now, things are going well since we have found this amazing caregiver. I believe that my father delivered this individual as a way of making sure that I didn’t commit the heinous crime of murder.
Tuesday she called to chat, but it was more of a dissertation on what will happen when she dies. This isn’t something new. We have this conversation at least once a month. She tells me about the various items in the house that should not be given away even though I joke that my sister and I are simply going to have a yard sale where everything is a dollar. She doesn’t find me amusing.
My mother has been putting wreaths at my father’s and bonus-father’s grave every year. It is kind of her jam. I personally don’t get it and when I suggested that we add lights and a big blow up Santa, she rolled her eyes. Seriously, we would win best decorated tombstone. This year, she asked if I would continue the tradition after she is gone. I was honest with a resounding “no”. She figured and we talked about not doing it this year. She was hesitant, but I pointed out that Dad and Elliott probably won’t complain.
Yesterday, she called wanting my input on the fabric that she is picking for her chair. She had a few samples and figured since it would eventually be my chair, I should have say in the selection. Then she threw in “I am almost blind, so you might wants to make sure it looks good”. Of course, I will go over to check out the samples to make her feel more comfortable and, honestly, I want to make sure that it will go well with my decor. Totally kidding – maybe.
I am sure that it won’t be the last time that she broaches the subject. This seems to make her feel as if she has some semblance of control. I will, however, refrain from mentioning that at the end of her memorial service, “Pop Goes the Weasel” will be played.