With the phone, on its fifth or sixth ring, I begin to wonder if she’s even awake to answer the call from her brother. So she won’t miss it, I rise and head inside:
Gma: Hello? (tv remote control raised to her ear)
Me: That’s the remote. (I reach for the phone and answer)
Gma: Oh that’s right. Thank you.
Me: You are welcome. (a small giggle parts my lips, but the ache in my heart knows dementia is eating its way further into her brain)