07/17/2025
I welcomed my mom into my home unexpectedly. One day, she arrived with a single bag—some stockings, a pair of slippers that say “Best Grandma” (a gift from my children), a bathrobe, a blouse, and a pillowcase.
For the past three weeks, a gentle 88-year-old woman has been living with me. Her snowy white hair is tied in a bun, and she softly shuffles down the hallway in her cozy slippers and cotton stockings. At each doorway, she pauses, lifting her feet as if stepping over invisible lines.
She smiles at the dog, whispers to someone only she can see, and shares their “news” with me. Quiet and reserved, she naps often. She enjoys the chocolate I leave in her room and sips tea with trembling hands, always checking to make sure her wedding ring is still on her finger.
She’s no longer the strong, independent woman I once knew. She’s let go—completely trusting me. Her greatest comfort is simply knowing I’m nearby, and the relief on her face when I walk through the door is unmistakable.
I find myself cooking soup every day again, just like I used to for my children, and there are always cookies on the table. At first, I was scared—this proud, independent woman who had lived alone for years after Dad passed now needed me. But as time went on, that fear turned into deep love and tenderness.
Now, all that matters is her happiness—warmth, comfort, good food, and love, with her daughter by her side. Nothing else matters.
It feels like I’ve been gifted a daughter—only, she’s 88. And I feel truly blessed to fill her final years with peace and joy.
Mom, thank you for being mine. Stay with me as long as you can.
Golden Words