It has been eight months since I’ve seen my mother. I miss her tremendously, but I do not think at this point it is safe to travel 3,000 miles by plane and rental car.
So I continue what I have been doing and make my morning phone call to my mother while I walk the dog.
A few years ago, when my dad was alive, we had plenty to talk about—doctor’s appointments, visiting nurse instructions, questions about his Parkinson’s and much more.
Up until the pandemic, we could talk about my mother’s daily activities, including time spent with her new great-grandbaby, excursions to the flower shop and visits with my sister and her children.
Now there is little to talk about. My mother’s life has become very quiet.