- Interlude: Laundry
The shirt he wore yesterday is crumpled on the back of the dining chair.He doesn’t notice the smell.I do. I ask gently.He shrugs.I toss it in the wash. We don’t talk about it.But I bring down the rest of the hamper anyway. - Interlude: The Dog
The dog doesn’t understand rehab.She paces the hallway at night, sniffs at the door.Sleeps on Mom’s pillow. When I walk her, she pulls hard toward the car.As if she thinks we’ll go pick Mom up and bring everything back to normal. I wish she was right. - Packing Her Flowers and Letting Go (Stroke Part 4)
I brushed her hair first. We had time before transport came — the kind of time that moves like thick syrup. So I helped her change her bra, pulled her soft shirt over arms that didn’t quite bend the way they used to.Helped her into clean underwear.Said nothing when she wouldn’t meet my eyes. Some… Read more: Packing Her Flowers and Letting Go (Stroke Part 4)

Personal Stories
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