[Text: Son, Every season of your life has meant more pride, greater joy, deeper love. To Scott, Wishing a wonderful Christmas to a son who has brightened the world from the start... who is loved more than ever. Thank you for all you do. Love, Mom]
I've already written about the climb we've made to a better plateau after a tumultuous December last year. This cold, sunny Christmas Day, I'm taking Mom south of Atlanta to see her daughter and son-in-law. We'll walk Sassy in the cemetery, and she'll have a warm evening with her Visiting Angel friend Laura.
(Below) We both injured ourselves walking dogs. Mom fell on uneven pavement walking Sassy a couple weeks ago; I went to the hand specialist around the same time, complaining about increasing pain in my wrist, dating back to a time in June when Mia pulled the leash hard to the right. Wrapped around my left wrist, the leash evidently tore a ligament. Mom and I are getting along fine, one-handed.
See other entries in my "Dementia Diary."
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