I am the meddlesome daughter.
I talk about her with her doctor.
I listen to her friends, as they worry about her.
I check her refrigerator to see if there is any food there... how many opened jugs of ice-tea, how many wilted heads of broccoli, how old are the eggs, what year is stamped on the cottage cheese.
I open her windows to let in fresh air, she promptly closes them, the house is stale, stuffy, and has a lingering heavily-perfumed-cat-sand smell.
I call to verify her appointments. Why would there be four ophthalmologist visits marked on her calendar for the next two months?