There was some kind of mystery to her; could never figure her out. One day she’d be jumping in the lake like a child, while on other days she stayed in her room and wept; balling like a baby wrapped up in a blanket; sometimes she kicked and screamed too.

The days with her went by fast. Nights she’d curl up next to me like a cat while other times she just sat at the kitchen table and stared empty like into space. I’d try talking to her. About things that would make her happy. Little things. Like birthday cake, ice cream on a hot summer’s day, taking rides out in the country, walks through a garden on a crisp autumn day. She wouldn’t smile. She just stared; catatonic like.

I visit her as often as I can at the home. Sometimes she recognizes me while other times she pays no attention. I bring her chocolates, the cherry cordial kind. While she eats them, I remember when she was younger. Thinking back to when she talked about reading the Bible and what the afterlife would be. She talked of singing and jubilation, golden paved roads, a mansion on the hill. Those were her ideas of paradise. Wonder if she still thinks of them.