And I was sitting beside her bed, holding her hand, where I belonged.

She opened her eyes one last time and found mine.

“Laura,” she said.

“I’m right here, Mom.” “Promise me,” she whispered, “you won’t carry too much on your shoulders.” I promised.

“And when Maya tells you she’s hurting — listen to her, before you try to fix everything.” I promised that too.

A faint, beautiful smile touched her lips.

“You were a wonderful daughter, Laura.” “Not always,” I wept.

And her frail hand squeezed mine with a surprising strength, and she gave me the last clear words she would ever speak.