Spent a couple of hours with my mom at the rehab yesterday. I took four of the kids, and my husband wandered in after we'd been there about an hour. He's awesome that way, having spent dinnertime with her the day before. Her eating skills have been wanting, and we've tried to be there for at least part of the day, when she'd be trying to feed herself. Better now, but she's still scattered in her head. She does like to eat dessert first. Maybe she's smarter than all of us.
And she took off her engagement ring back when she was in the ER, and gave it to me. Strange to be wearing it, the sweet ring my dad gave her later on in their marriage. A diamond we could never afford ourselves. I put it on first then put on my own rings. It fits. Yeah, strange, especially since she can see me wearing it. I told her I'd wear it until she gets out, and she said no, to keep it. It sparkles so.
I've seen women before wearing several wedding rings, none of them really matching. I get it now. And on my other hand I have a solitaire my dad gave me when we had our first child. Under it I wear one of his wedding bands (he was buried with his last band, though there's nothing wrong with this one). Guess I have them covered. A reminder of my roots, I guess. A bit---not so much bittersweet, but catches my throat, nonetheless.
My parents and I have had such a conflicted relationship, that this puts a sweetness to it.
Personally I'd rather my mom wear her ring. In a practical sense she can't wear it in the rehab hospital. Not wise, and definitely discouraged.
Anyway, the plan is to get her put back together enough so she can live here. That will be the real test of my character and ability to love in difficult circumstances. I'm very jealous of my time alone, and guard it like a monster.
But we love her, difficulties (in the past) aside. And we'll take care of her. It's the thing to do.