She asked me about the dishes again yesterday. "Are you taking dishes to work and not bringing them back?"
"No," I reply. "You have the same amount of dishes, give or take a broken glass, as you did when I moved in here three years ago."
"I know that when I buy dishes...I should have twelve."
A few moments later: "Do you think someone could have a key and is getting in and taking them?"
She actually doesn't get all the way through this sentence before I interject, "No, Nana, no one has a key to the house." Now I'm frustrated because I don't know how many different ways to tell her she's not missing any dishes; I have to practice my self-restraint to tell keep myself from saying to her that she's being paranoid. So I try a different strategy: "Call David & Leslie and see if they have any ideas."
She doesn't. So when David comes by to pick her up for dinner I tell him, "She's concerned," do not say "paranoid" because she is standing right there, "about her dishes again."
Yes, again. This is the third time she's asked me about dishes in the last month or so. (Although in the past year, there were a few scattered times she believed she was missing Tupperware.) I've lived with her three years -- the same amount of dishes exist. Why now is she so...concerned about them now when she never was before?
Dementia -- there really is no logic.