(a 100 word portrait)
The phone rang three times before I got to it.
“Bobby, it’s Mom. I need your help. Something’s in my kitchen.”
“Hi, Grandma, it’s Mark. What’s going on with your kitchen?”
“Mark? Mark who? I don’t know any Mark. I knew one. He was my other son, but he died.”
“I know, Grandma. My name is Mark. I’m your grandson. I’m Bobby’s boy.”
Six months ago, Grandma was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Each sunrise offered a new, confusing, and usually heart-breaking wrinkle.
“Bobby, I need your help now. They’re in my kitchen.”
“I’m on my way, Mom. I love you.”