The best part of the day starts after supper.

After Dad died, Mom dreaded the nights most. Now she calls me at nine to tell me who played and what they ate. She sounds like herself again.

Luke checks on Father at two and at four. He does it so quietly Father has never once woken up, and he tells me every morning how the night went.

I played the accordion at dances in Comfort for fifty years. I thought that was over. Tuesday nights, it isn't.

The evening tour sold us. We walked in at seven and the whole parlor was singing 'Waltz Across Texas.' My mother sat down and joined in.

They gave us the price in writing at the first visit, care level and all. I didn't have to ask twice.

I lay on a blanket on the back lawn and saw Saturn through a telescope. I am eighty-eight years old.

Karin filed every page of the VA Aid and Attendance claim for my father. It came through in four months.

Rafael makes red cabbage the way my grandmother did. Mother cried the first Thursday.

We moved Dad from Houston. Gwen had movers, a floor plan and his recliner placed before we pulled in.

My husband and I share a one-bedroom. He needs help now and I don't, and nobody makes either of us feel like a patient.

When Mom was dying, the night staff took turns sitting with her so I could sleep. I will never forget that kindness.