Claire sent flowers...

yesterday afternoon. They are some sort of pink lily the size of a bread and butter plate.
I never buy cut flowers. I like them in gardens but not in the house. Inside they are messy. They require water. They need to be arranged. I am hopeless at these things. I do not have time to sit and look at them.
But, Claire likes to do it. She wants to say 'thankyou' - which she does all the time anyway. I know I am often the only person she talks to in a day. She reads. She watches a little television. When she has the energy she will water her minute garden. I know she does not feed herself properly. It would be better if she ate her main meal in the middle of the day when she has more energy. In the evenings even putting a pre-prepared frozen meal in the microwave oven is more than she can be bothered with. At least the meals are nutritious when she eats them - but I doubt she eats much of them. Hugging her is like hugging a skeleton but she wants to be hugged.
Claire is nearly ten years younger than my father but heart failure and a series of small strokes have made her much frailer and forgetful with it. She needs to move into a nursing home, indeed wants to go. There is no place for her yet but she has been promised some respite care.
I hope my old age, always presuming I make it that far, is more satisfying than hers but she seems content enough at present.