On a family trip to Florida (back in the late 90s or early aughts) Tom, Sam, and Chris were enjoying mom's and dad's hospitality. They went to an all-you-can-eat buffet. The girls got a kick out of Tom eating octopus. It was a good meal. Mom went to get dessert. On the way home, she started cramping up. We took a bus as far as we could, but we were walking through the park. She had to go to the bathroom so badly she didn't think she would make it. There was a Port-a-Potty, so she tried to get to it before it was too late. It was too late. Tom felt so bad for her! The "dessert" area was right next to the sushi area . . . and she had gotten some nasty stuff.
This is a sad story. I'm not 100% what year it was (2011-2013?) but I had to fill out the same old paperwork for work. Every year, the same stuff! Phone number, address, blah blah blah. (I was super tempted to write "Nothing's changed.") But on the section where it asked for a secondary contact in case of emergency, I paused. And cried. Louie is always my first contact. But my mom had always been that second one, just in case. And it must have been the fall of 2011, because I remember the struggle I felt knowing she wouldn't have the mental acuity to take an emergency call on my behalf. The realization that her role in my life had changed and I needed to be strong for her . . . rather than me being able to lean on her . . . that was hard. I asked Morgan if I could put his name and number down in case of an emergency if they couldn't reach his dad. Of course, he said yes. I am incredibly blessed that I had my mom around for 48 years of my life and that ...
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