The lobby was filled with downy-haired women in ice-cream-colored blouses and a couple of bald fellows in cardigans. They played cards and a few were enjoying cocktails. Some sat flipping through magazines, while others watched birds gathered at a massive birdhouse outside the bay window. It was practically a commercial for the place. All heads turned in my direction as I walked past. My mother’s apartment was upstairs since she was still mobile. But the staff’s assessment of my mother’s level of independence fell short of what I had anticipated. While it hurt me to know that my mother was fading more, it had helped in the financial department for her to need care that I couldn’t provide. Dr. Johnson had helped and she had qualified for assistance. I knocked lightly on her door, but heard no reply. I pushed the door open and there was my mother’s thin frame silhouetted in the window, a hand held poised as if to speak. I watched her for a moment, but her hand never moved. “Hey, Mom?”
