I walked up the three flights of stairs to Mom\u2019s floor at the nursing home instead of taking the elevator, feeling my stomach tighten with sorrow. With guilt.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s not as if my siblings and I had any other choice for Mom. She had dementia and cancer. None of us could take care of her on our own. My brain knew that but my heart resisted. Lord, have we really done the right thing? <\/em>I wondered. Have <\/em>I?<\/em><\/p>\n I took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy door. I spotted Mom in the lunchroom, sitting at a table with some other women. I waved and her friend Rosa waved back. \u201cJean, your daughter is here!\u201d she told Mom loudly.<\/p>\n The room smelled like a school cafeteria: meatloaf, milk, peas, mashed potatoes. I nodded hello to Janelle, the only aide on duty today. As usual, they were running shorthanded.<\/p>\n I pulled up a chair next to Mom\u2019s wheelchair and kissed her cheek. \u201cHi, ladies. How\u2019s lunch today?\u201d I said, trying to sound more cheerful than I felt.<\/p>\n \u201cDelicious,\u201d Mom said. At least her attitude was good. Be grateful for that, <\/em>I said to myself. I told her what her grandchildren were up to, reminding her who was who and what ages they were. The others chimed in with stories about their own children and grandchildren\u2014stories I pretended to hear for the first time.<\/p>\n Mom looked across the room at Janelle. \u201cI love her,\u201d she said. \u201cShe is beautiful.\u201d Janelle\u2019s face lit up. For a brief moment I could see the mom I remembered, the woman who always had a kind word for everybody. But then she turned back to me and frowned.<\/p>\n