On Her Way To Oz

She used to love the rain. The stronger the storm, the louder the thunder, the brighter the lightening, the better. And tornadoes? Pah. She's not going in any basement until she SEES Toto blow by. If the lights go out? So what. It was the closest she'd ever get to camping so let the character building begin.

Now she's afraid. Genuinely, completely afraid. And when I ask her what is scaring her, she stumbles for her words, searching and has to confess she doesn't know. I remind her that we are in good house and the plants need the rain. She doesn't care.

I can't help but think that somewhere in that disorganized brain, it isn't the rain that scares her, it is her deterioration. Her brain can't process the loss but is smart enough to know that it is bad. She is trying to organize the fear but can't make the connections. Part of her deterioration is her increasing ignorance about her deterioration. Something is wrong so she is flailing to find its cause.

Yes, it's the rain. It must be. What else could it be?