Last night, like most nights now, I fed Mama her supper. She doesn’t pick up her spoon much anymore, so I mostly feed her myself and she mostly cooperates.
She tends to study me as she’s eating these days and often reaches out and touches my face or gently taps my arm. Sometimes she asks questions that I can answer. Sometimes she hollers her outrage. Sometimes she speaks garbled words that I don’t understand.
When she finished her meal, last night, I helped her walk down the hall and got her changed all clean and fresh. Then I guided her back down the hall and, holding her gait belt, directed her as she took tiny, shuffling steps to the love seat. She sat down next to Dad, and I tucked her in with a cozy throw blanket.
As I was getting my coat on, to go home to my own supper, I heard Mama say, “She’s my baby.”
And I smiled.