No private room

Dear Mago,
This evening, when I called the convalescent home , I could hear mom’s roommate screaming. I waited while mom calmly tried to convey the logic of “could you please lower your voice, I’m talking on the phone”, to no avail. How fortunate I am that mom is not suffering from dementia, that I can still talk to the person I remember. She continued to inform me that she is trying to accept her new roommate despite the fact that “I am a true loner”, in the hope that this tactic “might bring me greater attention from the care staff”. When I chuckled in recognition of myself and the gregariousness of my “old mom”, the solace of this intimacy was, however, quickly stifled by the comment “you sound just like your brother”. Jolted by this unexpected association, by a reminder of the imminent end to any “glitter scene” of collusion with an unwanted roommate and the proximity of death, mom managed to hang up without seeming abrupt. Though I called back a few hours later to ask what I thought were pertinent questions, this too was to no avail. This time, I didn’t even hear her roommate screaming.
Can you hear me?
Love,
Your granddaughter