He sat with his wife’s photo, waiting for a son who had already boarded without him

sacrifice. It felt like an inheritance.

One afternoon, June found me in the kitchen poring over homework about dementia patient care. She set down a plate of cornbread. “You know, I think you were always meant for this.”

I shook my head. “I’m not strong enough. I cry too easily. I get overwhelmed.”

She smiled. “And yet, here you are.”

When my clinical continue reading …