At 1 p.m. on Tuesday, September 8, 2015.

Finally at 7 p.m. last night, Margaret agreed to be changed.
When this was done, I asked, Would you like to sit in your rocking chair.
Her answer: "I guess I ought to." The transfer was uneventful. She
had no complaints. Did she want something to drink? Yes. Did she want
something to eat ? Yes. I had mashed potatoes for her. She preferred
hamburger to chicken. She ate about 4 oz of potatoes and two small
hamburgers with 2 strips of pickled cucumber. In addition about 6 oz.
of cranberry juice and 3 oz. of Riesling. Then she asked for ice cream 
and cake, ate about 4 oz of chocolate ice cream, changed her mind about 
the cake. That was all she wanted.

Then Margaret asked me, out of the blue, "What are you thinking?" That's 
been becoming a progressively more frequent question in the past 18 months.
I construe it as an expression of her awareness of her own cognitive
insufficiency, a request for help in thinking, just as she had consistently
relied on me for help with standing and walking. Often my answer was of
necessity evasive, because my thinking was pre-verbal, and or potentially 
confusing or painful for her. This time the answer was direct and simple. 
I told her, I was thinking about Janet, Alex and Peter. At this juncture, 
her face contorted with sorrow, and tears appeared at the lid margins. 
Then she began to sob. My efforts to ascertain the reason were only partially
successful. "Communicate" is her expression that lingers in my mind.
She was unable to say whether it was inability to communicate or to be
communicated with that distressed her. But I suspectb the former.

From her distress she wanted refuge in bed. This time the transfer with
the hydraulic lift was difficult for her, beset with fears of being dropped 
and compaints of pain associated with the necessary flexion of the knees. 
Once in bed, her distress did not immediately abate. She said: "It's very 
important. we have to be sure to ..." and she said it over and over again, 
unable to articulate what action of ours seemed imperative to her. My 
response to her, of course, was the unsconscionable falsehood, that she 
need not worry, because I would see that everything necessary was done.

It was about 9:30 p.m. when she fell asleep. So far as I know she slept
soundly all night, until 1 p.m., when she awoke. No, she said she was not
thirsty, she was not hungry, she did not want her rocking chair and she
did not wangt to be changed. Since then she has been lying motionless
and silent in bed, I presume awake, because from time to time, she rubs
one of her eyes, which are closed. Now I hear her deep, regular breathing.
She must be asleep.

Dear Peter, you're welcome, and I look forward to your coming this weekend,
but I know it's a long, tiring and somewhat dangerous trip, and when you
get here you may be confronted with the choice of sitting by her bed while
she's asleep, or waking her up to an unpredictable state of consciousness.
I dare not say to what extent if any we will be able to conjure up the past.

Love, Jochen