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  • My Bubi is dying. Maybe. This is the second time I've heard this since I moved back to Toronto so I'll believe it when I see it.

    We went to visit her tonight anyways, just in case, and she looks as close as she ever has.

    She can't really talk, her teeth are out, so are her hearing aids. She keeps picking at her nightgown trying to take it off as she lays.

    My sister-in-law sits and reads the nurses log while my brother and I hover over the bed.

    "It says here she can't drink milk, and then later some nurse tried to give her some milk. Don't they even read these things."

    Bubi is making strange gutteral noises. She keeps starting a sentence with "Can I.." or "May I..", "I want to.." but she either forgets or can't remember the word for what she wants.

    At a moment she looks up and seems to recognize my brother. She goes into one of her stock phrases, "Now what are you.." but trails off before she gets to the "up to these days?" part.

    When I give her my hand she starts rubbing it in hers to warm it. She is surprisingly vigorous.

    My brother says "her nails look fantastic."

    On the calendar next to her bed, there is a sticky note that says mani/pedi February 25th 2012. I think about how far away that seems at the moment, and then look at what I think is a bag of syringes on the bedside table. Turns out they are little sponges on sticks, called sponge-feeders. One is sitting in the glass of water next to the bag, I had thought it was a lollipop.

    Her nails do look fabulous.

    Who knows what's going to happen next.
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