My mom’s dementia has progressed. She lost her drivers license, and you can’t vote in North Carolina without a government-issued picture ID. We jumped through every hoop in the circus. She was expunged from the county we moved from and never registered in this one. The County Board of Elections couldn’t give us a picture ID without a picture ID. I found her license number to order a duplicate, which won’t be here in time for her to vote. In the end it doesn’t matter because she told me this morning that she had voted.

After a couple of awkward seconds I said, “I’m so glad you got to vote.” Then I went upstairs and cried.

I came downstairs, sat beside her, and read two chapters of an academic history while she read a mystery. I made tuna salad for lunch and the last of the season’s okra with chicken and rice for dinner.

She played piano beautifully. Danny Boy. He Touched Me. Autumn Leaves.

“The autumn leaves drift by the window, the autumn leaves of red and gold. I see your lips, the summer kisses, the sunburned hands I used to hold.” — Johnny Mercer