Mathias will be a month old on Friday.

A package came to our house today, by prearrangement with a mutual friend who was going to be out of town, and tonight we took it over to B, whom she’d ordered it for.

B was the first blind female engine mechanic in WWII and is rightfully proud of that.

For the first time, she didn’t recognize my voice although she knew who Richard was. She seemed not to quite remember me. At her age, you’re allowed.

We found out that she’d lived in Alaska for awhile and that that’s why she loved taking cruises there and, as she loved to say, To see the sights! How had we never known that about her?

We talked about moose a little bit. I forgot to ask if she knew about the musk ox. Her time there would have been near when the Musk Ox Farm in Palmer was starting to get established to bring the population back from extinction in Alaska.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard her talking about her late husband before.

We didn’t stay long; twenty-three minutes per the check-in check-out sheet, but she was fading fast. She had a package of her own that needed returning and I promised her I would get it to the post office tomorrow. She was adamant that I let her reimburse me for the postage, and though I didn’t argue I was minded not to.

And yet. It occurs to me that when you’re too frail to walk and you’re in your nineties in a nursing home and nearing the end, being allowed to make a choice to do right by someone else who did you a favor is not something I should take away from her. If she remembers, I will let her.