Reflections

Lily’s world became one room, rotating staff, and the occasional visit from a DCFS worker. Her tracheostomy is suctioned. Her seizures are treated. Every heartbeat and breath scrolls across monitors at the nurses’ station. Her body is kept alive.

Standing on a cruise ship balcony at sunrise, I decided to see what my body could still do. One leg surprised me. The other required a rescue. Aging isn’t about pretending you’re young—it’s about continuing to try, misjudging your abilities, and laughing anyway. I’ll take the sore hip for that moment of wondering: how high can I lift my leg?

Six weeks before my father died of Alzheimer’s, I held him while a nurse moved his mattress to the floor so he wouldn’t be hurt when he fell. He was seventy-two and suddenly weightless in my arms, the man who once held me now being held by me. I knew even then that those few seconds would stay with me forever—a quiet reversal of time, love, and care that does not fade.