“The moment you accept your own death, something in you changes.”* Words spoken by a Ukrainian refugee slumped on a shelter bed, phone in hand. Resigned. Her words resonate, a reminder of my mother’s decline.
Mom has changed. She says very little, sleeps a lot. No more raging temper tantrums over how much butter there is on the toast. Little things matter little, big things less. Nothing big like Russian planes threaten Mom. Nothing external. Nothing like this Ukrainian woman faces. And yet she is upended. Shuttling from hospital to rehab, death has crept inside my mother, weighing her down.
* From The Economist April 30, 2022 “The Wreckage Within.”
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 
My mother got old in her 90’s, after a couple of falls robbed her of her self-confidence. But she didn’t seem weighed down. She seemed lighter, more fragile, until finally she just wafted away.
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Not surprising that we all have different responses to those changes. I hope I’ll feel light.
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