30 August 2005
Tuesday, 5 PM
“I feel rotten. I feel bad everywhere.”
(Date and time not recorded but in this time frame. Mother was sleeping and her head fell off the pillow, so I tried to make her comfortable. She woke up briefly.)
“Are you hungry?” and then Mother went back to sleep.
“Take my hand. Don’t leave me. I want to know. I want to take your hand and on the door to go out. I’m afraid I’ll never get out.”