I’m the only one who looks after my mom, Joyce, 79. After a bad fall, I made the hardest decision of my life.
I placed her in a nursing home because I was terrified she’d get hurt again when I was at work.
But I NEVER ABANDONED HER. Every weekend, I’d visit with fresh muffins, paint her nails, and decorate her room with photos. But last Saturday, I walked in with banana bread and a cardigan—and the receptionist blinked.
“Mrs. Joyce? She’s NOT HERE anymore.
She was DISCHARGED last week. A woman nicked her out and said that you sent her.”
My hands went numb. The tin of banana bread clattered to the floor.