Ginger

Dear Tatum,

This morning Grandma came into my room and asked for help in the bathroom. I helped her (and cleaned the poop from the floor) and she decided to go back to bed. As she was getting into bed, she called me 'Ginger,' then corrected herself and said, "Your name's not Ginger, is it?" "No, Grandma, my name is Jenny." She asked, "Was that your sister who helped me with this [holding up her hand] last night?" and continued, "You don't have a sister, do you?" I replied, "Do you know who my sister is?" "No," she said. "My sister is Sofie." "Your sister is Sofie? Well that doesn't make any sense."

Later, in the living room after breakfast, Grandma said out of the blue, "I can't believe Sofie's your sister!" "Why not?" "I don't know, it don't fit." "Why not?" "I don't know." She continued, "Well that wasn't Sofie last night operating on my hand?" "Nope." "Well who was it?" "It was me." "That was you?" "Yep."

These conversations are becoming more frequent. I mentioned them to the nurse and she dismissed them as forgetfulness, but I know they are more than that. 

Love,

Gin