In the early 2000’s when Helen was in an “assisted living” home, I visited her a few times.
The first time I visited, she was telling me about some of the activities around the place. And she had a BIG complaint. “Charlie,” she said. “This place isn’t much fun. People around here are so damned OLD!” (She had just turned 90.)
Another time when I visited with her a couple of years before she died, she pointed at a few of the people who seemed to be wandering around. “Charlie,” she said. “See those people who don’t seem to know who they are and where they’re going? They have Alzheimer’s. They put those people up on the third floor.” Then she paused for a couple of minutes and said, “You know, someday they might call you and tell you that they’ve put me up on the third floor.” She then continued, “If you ever get such a call, don’t bother to come see me. I won’t know who the hell you are!”
During my last visit with her before she died, she was sitting calmly in here chair, looked at me and asked, “Charlie! Am I in an insane asylum?”
I looked at her, smiled as she smiled a me and said, “Yup!”
Helen spent the next few minutes laughing.
There are other stories – but those are all I can think of right now.