One morning a woman who lives down the hall from my mom in the facility is found dead. “You never know until it’s too late,” my 90-year-old mother says. She might mean she could go any day herself so I should visit more often. Or I could die sooner than I think and need to get right with God. And there’s a third, apocalyptic possibility I’ve heard about all my life. Changing the subject, I mention that another restaurant in town has closed. Mom shakes her head and clicks her tongue. “It’s a wicked, wicked world.” I brace for Armageddon.
David Henson and his wife live in Illinois. His work has been nominated for two Pushcart Prizes and previously has appeared in Five Minutes. Find David on Twitter @annalou8.