Three Days Before the Casket Was Delivered, My Son Asked Me to Sign a Document

The paint was scuffed along the bottom where boots had kicked them open a thousand times.

“What should I be writing down?” I asked.

“Every time you saw her sleep through a meal.

Every time they told you no visitors.

Their exact words.” He paused.

“And find out what’s in that bottle.”

I folded the page back into my purse.

“They won’t let me through the door.”