“You used to let me eat pie dough,” I said through tears.
“You used to steal it,” she replied with a laugh.
We spent the afternoon looking through photographs and sharing memories. Margaret remembered my first lost tooth, the yellow sweater she’d knitted for me, and the birthday cake I’d once made using salt instead of sugar.
I was amazed by how much of my childhood she’d kept alive in her heart.
Before we left, I thanked her for everything she’d done for us.
“Your mother worked very hard,” Margaret said. “I just made sure you had somewhere to go after school.”
“That wasn’t a small thing,” I told her.
She squeezed my hand and smiled.
Over the following months, Ellen arranged extra help for Margaret, and Mom continued visiting without trying to become her full-time caregiver.
Sunday dinners continued, too, but I began doing the cooking. Mom protested at first, then started bringing recipes instead of entire meals.
