D was a bit glum on the phone this morning. She said that it had been saddening to see Mum so confused and lost for words, that there had been less of the "woman she was" there.
As usual, they had eaten lunch together in the restaurant downstairs from Mum's flat. At the end of the meal, when they were getting up to leave and take her up again, Mum asked, "Will Greg be there when we get home?"
For me, that one little sentence is so rich with pathos that I can hardly bear it.
If I was counselling someone else in my position about this I would probably try to reassure them that they were at least remembered and wanted. But it doesn't help. I just feel so desperately sad.