I celebrated Mother’s Day with Mom for the last time in 2002. I wanted to take her to an extravagant restaurant, show her how much I loved her. Mom, though, had little strength and could not wait for a table on the one day a year that everyone, it seemed, also wanted to show how much they loved their mothers. I downgraded my expectations and picked a greasy spoon. No seats available. So, Ken, Mom and I celebrated Mother’s Day at a fast-food restaurant, eating biscuits and hash rounds and sipping our cocktails—cartons full of orange juice. We had the place all to ourselves, probably the only day of the year when customers abandoned it for more expensive fare.
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