I danced around my mother all weekend, but finally we sat together on two stools over a last cup of tea. I was about to leave. The caregiver was coming — a kindly, white-haired man named Martin who brought her gourmet coffee and knew how to help without condescension when she tried to heat it up in the microwave.
But for now, we were alone in a quiet house. My daughters were off somewhere on the iPad — I’d given up enforcing the screen-time limit today. Instead I studied my mother’s creased face and saw the flicker of a shadow cross it.