I spent a month in the hospital, and when I came home

Angela flipped through her papers. “It is. The hospital social worker arranged everything. Physical therapy, weekly nurse visits, even help with meals. There was no recommendation for a nursing home.”

My daughter looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something in her eyes I hadn’t seen before.

Not anger.

Fear.

“You told me,” I said quietly, “that the doctors said I had to leave.”