Slumber

The monthly visit day for my mother-in-law with dementia.

Since she moved into the facility during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, our visits had always been limited to the conversation corner near the entrance or through a plastic sheet in a makeshift sterile room.

This time, it was our first visit inside her room.

Stepping into her living space for the first time.
The room on the third floor was sunny, had a nice view, and looked very comfortable and clean.

By her bedside were a CD player and Eikichi Yazawa.

On the wall, there was a calligraphy piece that powerfully read 'Yazawa'.

They must have guided her hand to help her write it, even though she no longer has the strength to hold chopsticks.

It is easy to see how they think of rehabilitation and recreational activities every day, hoping to help her recall even a little of her happier times.

My mother-in-law lay there, her body slightly propped up.

For the first time in a while, she was close enough to touch, and she moved her mouth mumble-y in response to my voice.

It was as if she was telling me she could still hear me.

I haven't seen her eyes open for several months now.
Our visits often fall after lunch and bathing, so she is likely at the peak of her sleepiness.

In her long slumber, what kind of dreams does she see, and what does she think about?

Even if her eyelids were to open, she probably wouldn't be able to focus on me.

Even so, I still go to talk to you, to check for your reaction.
Bringing along the spineless men who can't keep a conversation going with you when you don't reply.

☆ I borrowed the header photo. Thank you as always!