I love the church choir members and director. I really do. But I asked Mom please to not invite the choir to my room to visit me. I didn’t want to feel like a zoo animal with a line of curiosity-seekers at my display cage. If they wanted to visit me, I reasoned, they could come during the week, or after church—just not as an extension of the convenience of already being at my house (Mom’s house) for choir practice. Mom seemed to understand, and I relaxed. While she was at church after choir practice, I rode the chair lift down the stairs for the first time, and hobbled exhaustedly around with a walker for a few minutes. There, on the third step, was the sign Mom had left for the choir members: No Visitors Upstairs Please. I guess I should not have been surprised. I had been as clear with Mom as I knew how, but dementia muddles and distorts everything, not to mention my own imperfect communication. My request for her not to invite the whole choir to visit me had turned into an injunction to stay away, to not trespass, into a declaration that Roger did not want to be seen. And the undementiaed choir took the sign at its word: no visitors, that day or since. How hard it is to strike a balance between wanting a little privacy and pushing people away. I seem to be better at the latter. I guess I got exactly what I asked for.