the time I didn't know this would be the last time I saw her. I'd just put
new handles and a lock on her china cabinet, which still stood empty, awaiting
the formerly precious possessions about which she'd stopped caring after
my mother (her daughter) died. It was time for me to go. Her short-term memory
was shot, so each time I said it she seemed surprised. "What, already?" and
she'd reach for my hand. We did this several times, then I finally turned
my back on her and walked out her room, down the hall, through the door,
into the car. Goodbye. It wasn't the end I had in mind.