“How long have I been here?” My mother asks this frequently.
“Almost five months now.” I sound like a recorded message because I feel that way at this point. If my mother could retain anything she questions us about I’d have trained Alexa to answer everything she asks.
“Five months?” She shakes her head in seeming wonderment or frustration and turns to gaze out the kitchen window while I imagine she is lining up the followup questions that usually accompany the first. But I’m ahead of her.
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