More (or Less) About Visiting My Mother

Who was in bed at mid afternoon covers up to her chin, scant hair plastered to her skull with her teeth out. Though I am told she doesn't like wearing her teeth anymore so let's not make it seem worse that it is.

Not knowing me, she hit on me, or so I think, saying I was a nice looking man and perhaps she could go home with me? Not being in a particularly playful, or incestuous, mood, I said I was her son and married besides at which point she began what my sister says is her litany:

I'm bad, no one loves me and no one has ever loved me although there was someone I loved and I prayed that God would either let me have him or let me die although I was granted neither thing so I lay in bed and cried in the dark.

This went on for a while. I mentioned my late father, her late mother, etc., pointing out that they loved her, we loved her, my god all that love. But this had no visible effect. There she lay, woe on  her face, torment on her face, reliving something she either experienced or feared experiencing. As I said: She loops. 

I kissed that little toothless mouth twice and we came away.