cheek. “I know what I know.”
I did not understand then. I told myself it was just the dementia, just words drifting loose.
“She left something for you.”
I drove home that night thinking about my own mother, about how rarely I sat with her the way I sat with Rosie. I made a promise to do better. To call more. To stay longer.
Two days later, my phone rang while I was loading boxes onto the truck.
It was the nursing home director.
“Jeremy. Rosie passed away in her
