My mother seemed unusually sad on the March morning that Jeff and I left her apartment to drive to New England. The depth of her emotion struck me as odd. We’d visited with her for several days on our way north, and we planned to stop there again on our trip home. “Mom,” I said, “we’ll be back in two weeks, for at least a couple of nights.”
“Oh,” she said, putting on a brave smile. “That’s right. I’ll see you soon.”
Could she really have forgotten? She was doing so well—living without pain, eating well, even playing an occasional hand of bridge with other women in her retirement complex. Still, I drove away feeling unsettled.
