As I sit here my mother tells me stories. Because “here‚” is at her fabulous new computer, I try to write them down as fast as she speaks, but I get behind. She’s a terrific story teller with a scary memory, and if I could keep up, I’d have no editing to do. Today, I’m not in a spiffing up mood. Here’s today’s, ragged edges and all.

But first, a short update. Tomorrow we have Helen’s first doctor’s appointment at 9:30. It’s with her primary care physician, the one who will tell me Helen has to move to be closer to her children. Joan wants me to say, “My sister, Joan, would be happy to have her parents move in with her, and she will do everything humanly possible to facilitate it. Michael, however, thinks it’s okay if his mother dies a miserable and neglected death in bed in her computer room.”

At 2:30, we drive back to the same building to see the gastro-enterologist who will tell us if the Prednisone is keeping Helen’s auto immune liver disease under control. Joan, wants me to ask him about interferon lozenges.

On to today’s story:

“When Ron Coleman killed himself, the police wanted to interview me. I told them, no, I didn’t want the police driving up and down the street in front of his house. “

“That was the guy across the street?‚”

“Oh, you remember. Ron came over asking for money and we gave him a check for forty dollars. I made it out for twenty and he looked at it and said, “Couldn’t you make it out for forty?’ I said, “No,’ but Mack gave me that don’t-be-so-stingy look. Later that day the bank called to ask me if I had written a check for four hundred dollars. Anyway, the investigating detective wanted to come to our house to interview us. I told him, “I do not want you parked in front of my house because I live across the street from these people. They don’t need the embarrassment.’ He said, “I’m not sure it’s any of your business.’ I said, “I’m not so sure it’s not,’ and then I said, “Why don’t I meet you at the bank?’ His answer, “I don’t have time to do this.’ I’m getting impatient now, so I asked him how about if we meet at the bank in two hours, and the detective agrees, but he doesn’t show up. After I got home from the bank, I called him in his office to ask why he didn’t wasn’t there. He said he didn’t feel like it. He wanted to meet me here.”

“Anyway, I turned the news on the next night and there is a story about a man found dead in an abandoned house of a drug overdose. It was Ron. I had to call his brother to tell him what happened. As much as I knew. He was greatly relieved by my call because he was afraid he had caused his brother’s death after he stopped giving him money.‚”