Goodness me, I have just talked with Keith on the phone for more than an hour and a half. My ear is very flat and red. Ow. But I was glad to do it, both because it is fun to talk with Keith, and because his mother died yesterday. And he found her. Shudder!
He called me yesterday and told me about it, and cried, which may be the first time I have heard him cry. Doesn't seem possible, does it, since we dated for seven years? My memory could be merely gone kaplooie. But if so, I don't remember it.
Dreadful to think about, my mother dying. And oddly enough, Dad and I had just been talking about that when I was down there last week. We were walking on the beach road, and he said, "If I should suddenly croak, please don't leave Mom up there alone," and I responded, 'Dad, if you were so bad-mannered as to suddenly croak, I would promptly move in with Mom. And the same thing, if she were to suddenly die, I would move in with you. That's already understood." He was quite relieved to hear this, but of course he pooh-poohed the need for me to move in with him, cuz he, of course, is one hundred per cent capable of looking after himself. Which he is certainly not. Mom brings him his coffee in the morning, in bed, for him to take his pills with, and then at intervals throughout the day. And although he occasionally makes himself coffee, it is an occasion when he does! She also feeds him almost every bite he eats, and does his laundry and pays his bills -- of course he could do these things, but he hasn't done them for forty-six years.
And Keith's Dad, who has outlived his wife, was always supposed to be the one who went first, because he is very, very frail. Keith's worried.