tell me everything happened for a reason.
She did not tell me to be strong.
She held a paper cup of water to my lips when my hands shook, tucked the blanket around my feet, and stayed until I fell asleep.
Years later, when arthritis twisted her fingers and made small buttons impossible, I began stopping by before church to fasten her coat.
When she could no longer drive at night, I took her to appointments.
When her memory started slipping, I labeled the drawers in the guest room and
