At My Son’s Queens Kitchen, He Told Me To Pack A Bag If I Refused Assisted Living. “Then Leave My House,” He Said. I Smiled, Closed My Old Suitcase, And Walked To The Door—Just As A Black Limousine Pulled Up Outside.

chamomile and melissa.

My favorite.

I looked up sharply.

“How did you know?”

“Albert told me,” Henry said. “He once said there was no point talking to you after nine at night unless you had a cup of chamomile in your hands.”

Albert.

Even thirteen years later, his name could still find the sorest part of me.

We sat in silence for a moment, the kind that only continue reading …