Mama's Not Here

In August I'm going back east for a couple of days to visit my mother in the Baptist nursing home where my big sister put her a couple of months ago. I'm not exactly sure why I'm going back. My mother and I haven't been close for a long time -- she never did much like my wife; pout too much for too long and it has consequences -- and now she's pretty deep in dementia and will not recognize me.

My sister says during most visits my mother will ask her if she was married and -- when assured she was -- if her husband loved her. Then she'll ask my sister if she (my mother) has any children.

Yes, my sister will say. And I'm one of them.

Which one? my mother will say.

The pretty one, my sister will say, who has a good sense of humor, which is getting a pretty good workout currently.

I told my sister to tell my mother that her wonderful son is coming to see her. He is in prison and has been in solitary confinement because he shanked someone in the yard (it's never too late to expand your vocabulary) but that he has gotten a special furlough to come see her.

I'll show up. I assume my mother will ask the usual questions: marriage, husband, children, which one are you?

The pretty one, my sister will say.

In prison, I'm the pretty one, I'll say.

You've got to laugh, don't you.