soldiers wouldn't leave their liquor behind, ma

I escaped earlier for a couple hours. On my way home mom called. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Everything OK?
Mom: Well, sorta. Do you have Candy's number?
Me: We don't know anyone named Candy.
Mom: Is it on autodial?
Me: I don't know who Candy is, mom.
Mom: The girl who sleeps in your bed.
Me: Ma, I sleep in my bed and no one else. [can I remember the last time I shared a bed with anyone? caregiving is lonely]
Mom: Well, there's all this liquor here in boxes that the army left. They packed it and delivered it but they're gone now.
Me: There's no army, mom, and any liquor in the house belongs to me.
Mom: I'm just worried about an audit. Does your sister keep receipts? [I don't have a sister].
Me: There won't be any audit. I'll be home in ten minutes and then you can show me.

Ten minutes later...

Mom: The box of beer is downstairs.
Me: We live in a single-story house.
Mom: Well let's go downstairs.
Me: Down the hall.
Mom: Ok, let's go down the hall.
[down the hall and in her bedroom]
Mom: There's this column that the army uses to shimmy the boxes upstairs. [she's pointing to her window]
Me: There's no army and our house doesn't have any columns.
Mom: [dazed expression]

That's a pretty normal exchange these days. I have my glassware from my old house packed in boxes from the ABC store, so I understand where she got the liquor idea from, but the army is out of the blue. I imagine Candy is today's name for my "sister"/alter-ego.

Though normal in context of the last few weeks, this is a big change from a few months ago. I feel as though we're nearing the end (aren't we always), but physically there are no signs of it. Years ago she told me that if she ever "lost it" (her mind), I shouldn't prolong the inevitable. If her body were as messed up as her mind I think she could handle that conversation, but as it is, she's still in fight mode.


Image: Photograph by my mom's father, WWII, armored cars parked along the autobahn after V.E. day.