Chapter 3 - I Had Hired Celeste Because She Seemed Perfect
Celeste had entered our lives six weeks earlier.
Mom had fallen in her bathroom.
Nothing broke, but dehydration and weakness landed her in the hospital for two nights.
I wanted someone with her during the day while I worked.
Mom resisted.
“I’m seventy-six, Graham. Not six.”
“I know.”
“Then stop hiring babysitters.”
We compromised.
Four hours a day.
Help with meals.
Transportation.
Medication reminders.
Celeste’s qualifications were legitimate.
Certified caregiver.
Excellent references.
No criminal history.
She presented herself as calm, efficient and patient.
More importantly, she never treated Mom as helpless in front of me.
That won me over.
The first two weeks seemed fine.
Then Mom began changing.
She slept through afternoons.
Misplaced objects.
Called me one evening and asked why it was morning.
Celeste suggested:
“Sometimes hospitalization accelerates cognitive decline.”
I asked whether I should arrange a neurological evaluation.
Celeste nodded sympathetically.
“It might give you peace of mind.”
She even kept a notebook.
Every episode.
Every forgotten conversation.
Every missed meal.
Every accusation Mom made against her.
I thought the documentation meant professionalism.
Later I understood what it really was.
Construction.
Celeste wasn’t merely waiting for my mother to appear confused.
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She was building a record that would make confusion the only explanation anyone believed.
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