Mom stared at me quizzically when I entered her room. I said (loudly, because she won’t wear her hearing aids), “Hey Mom, it’s Lori, your daughter,” and went in for a hug. She trembled then melted into my hug. She mumbled, took my hand, and in her socked feet, started shuffling towards the living room. We got to the love seat, and I helped her turn around and lower herself onto the cushions. I sat beside her and she snuggled closer. I put one arm around her, and held her hands with my other hand. She dropped her head onto my shoulder and promptly fell asleep. We stayed that way for an hour until her beau shuffled up and said, “Hey! What ‘cha doing?” Mom drowsily opened her eyes and patted my leg, her cue for “Let’s go.”

I helped her stand and we shuffled through the two hallways. She shuffled back to the love seat and stood there. I asked her if she’d like to rest, and she nodded. I positioned her in front of the love seat, then gently sat her down. I put my arms around her to hug her, and she again put her head on my shoulder and fell asleep. A bit later, the hospice social worker arrived for her check in. In a whisper, I asked her to pull up a chair. Mom stirred and I stroked her hair. As the social worker and I talked in hushed voices, I wondered if Mom really was asleep, or if she was pretend sleeping like I used to do as a child, eavesdropping on the adult conversations.

After the hospice worker left, Mom awoke and pulled my hand. “C’mon.” I helped her up and we did a lap through the facility hallways then ended back on the love seat for the third nap of the afternoon. There are days, like today, when a simple walk tires her out and most of our time together is spent napping. I don’t mind these days. I focus on how her skin feels, what her hair smells like, the rhythm of her breathing. I want to sear it into my brain so that I’ll never forget. I know I will forget. 

Upon the third waking, Mom rubbed her eyes, looked at me, startled and afraid, and said, “Who are you?!?!” I hugged her tight, kissed the top of her head, and told her I loved her. I’m the person who loves her.