told. Words get out, outside, and when our mother began
her disease she knew the difference, inside versus inside.
Deprived, she spoke even when eating, when she could eat.
Then she could speak but not swallow so a hole was made in
her where food could go in. Then she could no longer speak
with her always, always I carried a notebook too but she could
hear so I did not write. She wrote but then her hands shook
and then she did not write and did not eat and did not leave
her house her room her bed and there is a kind of breathing
called Cheyne-Stokes which she did which was a sign the
boundary between inside and outside was growing firmer.
sharper and then the breathing stopped. Her last not I kept
I have been trying to decipher. I know some of the words.
