When they said our mother couldn’t stay on her own anymore, my siblings suddenly had a list of excuses ready. I was the last person anyone expected to speak, which is exactly why what I said next changed everything.
The doctor looked at all of us and said, “Your mother’s balance is getting worse. She’s already had two serious falls this year. Living alone is dangerous.”
No one responded.
Our mother, Margaret, sat on the hospital bed wearing that hopeful expression older parents have when they still believe their children will step up. I stood there with my six brothers and sisters—the seven of us she had raised, mostly on her own.
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