Just how much do we want to keep Mom alive? Or, just how much alive, does Mom want to stay?
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How could this innocent exchange possibly send me to the edge?
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It’s 6 pm. Time for the evening news. Mom takes her spot on the couch and sinks deeply into its down abyss. She picks up her “clicker,” turns on the TV, selects her favorite news channel, and begins her visual clearance test.
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I can’t wait another minute to find out what’ll happen next! I’m on the waiting list of daughters who are mothers - sandwiched right in between the two... just waiting in the wings, while waiting for the dust to settle.
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The expiration date is really just a recommended date. I’ve never worried about expiration dates and I’ve made it to 91!
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No, the bulk of Mom’s mail is actually, well, bulk mail.... not a true postage stamp to be found.
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Mom: (innocently) We have an appointment with the heart doctor tomorrow, right?
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I did it again... I walked right into the hardware store, expecting to find milk.....not literally - it’s a metaphor - but it’s particularly upsetting when I’m positive the milk is in there....
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How did this fork get here? It just came out of the dishwasher...
Mom: The neurologist called and said he wants to see me.
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