Last year my mother needed me to pick her up at her medical group, because she had had a routine procedure that they wouldn’t allow her to drive home from. I found her in the bed, pink and healthy-looking in her gown, as surprised to see me as I was to see her. I still imagine myself to be young, no more than eighteen, with all my life ahead of me; what’s more, I know she imagines herself the same way. This is why, even though we know and love each other, we sometimes find the other incongruous, and out of place.