It was the end of summer. The family had spent a few weeks in Iowa where my mother was now in hospice because of cancer. Both grandchildren spent time at her bedside and played with cousins, saw aunts and uncles and enjoyed the rare occasion of the whole family being together.
My younger sister would be the nurse. She had the training. I was worthless and returned home so the children could start school. In a few days I got the call. I booked a ticket to leave the next day. The children wanted to know why I was going again, since I had just been there.
When your mother dies, you go there.