In 2005 I became the main
caregiver for my mother, Judy,
a role I never expected, and
at first resisted. At seventy-
two, she could no longer
balance her checkbook, and
the lakeside home where she
had lived alone for twenty-five
years overflowed with garbage
Each winter her steep, gravel road left her cottage inaccessible except by foot, so Mom would park her car at the top of the cliff and carry her groceries down the hill in a small, red backpack, creeping along with ice cleats on her boots for traction and a
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