Last night my mother, Maxine MacLeod, passed away peacefully. Today I’m sharing a memory of mom from 1947. (Not a lived memory—I wasn’t born yet!)
“Alexa, drop in on Maxine.” “Maxine MacLeod’s Echo Plus, right?” I wait for Echo’s signal at mom’s bedside, room 128, Birchview Home, Birch Hills, Saskatchewan.
The last time we visited our mothers was in April. The long, Saskatchewan winter stalled out for the week we were there. Flocks of geese
About three-o-clock every afternoon these days when Vancouver’s grey skies darken toward charcoal and heavy rains pummel our flat roof, I need a cookie. The
On Friday afternoon, we got the call. A week later, I locked the door on an almost-empty house. Imagine that like my mother, you’re eighty-nine
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