She’s hospitalized for a minor procedure that nevertheless requires an overnight stay. We visit her, and something amazing happens.
Lying in bed, she asks my brother and me how our day went at school. She’s actually nice to us—welcoming, listening, gentle. She interacts with us the way she does with the outside world.
We could be surprised. We could be suspicious, critical. Why do you care about us all of a sudden? But no. We are happy. When you’re starving and delicious food suddenly appears, you eat, especially when you’re a child.
The next day, we pick her up. My father parks the car right in front of the ten or so steps that lead from the hospital entrance to the sidewalk. Halfway down the stairs, she snaps at us. She’s back.
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