Whack a Mole


I am the mole, and this is the “whack a mole” time of my life. I just have to accept it.

My mother is in her last stages of dementia.  I was the one had to tell her she was going to assisted living.

Then my husband lost his memory.  His younger son texted him a few weeks ago, and he asked me who he was.  We lived in Austin 10 years or more and he couldn’t remember where my best friend’s house was on Lake Travis, although we have probably been there 9,000 times.

My stepdad had to be rushed to the emergency room recently with shortness of breath and chest pain.

My granddaughter was hospitalized for asthma.

What else can this mole take?

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