Karen

She is my mothers sister and the last one alive of her generation. She is 98. Her sense of reality is complicated, her now is vividly mixed with proud comments that she still makes all of her own clothes and how she tends her beautiful garden. She really did once but that was many years ago. She remembers, with a loving smile, the name of her sister, who moved to Sweden a long time ago but is surprised to hear that I am her sisters son. After a while longer she vaguely remembered she had visited her there and having met me too, through the familiar sound of my voice. We had a long chat, with many repetitions, when she told me of her rich and happy life. I left her in a happy mood.