"I'm desperate," my mother told me a moment ago. She had come over just to sit with me. She had a wild look in her eyes.
"Desperate about what?" I asked.
"I don't know. I can't put a finger on it," she replied.
I held her hand and it was shaking.
"Calm down. It is going to be okay."
"I don't want to drive to Birmingham to see your sister and the baby," Mom blurted out. "I dread that long drive and I have to leave soon. Your father can get up more things to do."
"I understand," I said as I lit up a cigarette.
"That's terrible of me isn't it?" Mom said.
"I think that is normal," was my reply.
Mom really can't take a lot going on. My father constantly keeps up activities to do. It wears on her. I don't blame her for dreading that drive and the resulting social menagerie.