“I’ll just swing by the branch and pick up all the monthly bank statements for Mom,” he was saying, “so she doesn’t have to worry about driving downtown.”

I remember standing in that dim hallway and smiling to myself, my heart warmed clear through.

One of my boys was looking out for me.

Clinton was going to save me the stressful trip to the bank, was going to handle the tedious paperwork so his grieving mother would not have to.

I thought how proud Lawrence would be, if he could see it, to watch his youngest son step up and care for his mother during the hardest season of her life.

That is the thing about love, and about getting old: it makes you read everything in the warmest possible light.