The nursing home is bright, austere. I watch mother comb grandmother’s hair, matted from her constant cat napping. Mother is tender—unlike the rushed ponytails I give my daughters—speaking slowly, loud.

Leaving, I touch grandmother’s hand. Is she, too, wondering if this is forever?

“I’ll be waiting,” she says.

Anri Brenninkmeyer is a New Yorker living in Cambridge, MA. She has worked as a English teacher, management consultant, and pastry cook. She currently owns a small sewing business and raises her two young daughters. The one constant through it all has been her writing.