I was the only one looking after my mom, Joyce, after her fall at 79. Unable to leave her alone, I made the hard decision to place her in a nursing home. Every weekend, I visited with muffins, painted her nails, and brought photos to brighten her room.
One Saturday, I arrived with her favorite banana bread—only to learn she had been discharged the week before. Despite the shock, I realized that caring for her, even in small ways, had been meaningful for both of us.
