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Weekly Contest #362
Trigger warning: This story contains themes of Alzheimer’s disease, memory loss, grief, and Holocaust-related trauma. “Hannah, let me cook you breakfast. Like I used to. Please,” Ima had begged. I look at the woman in front of me, the woman who was once unstoppable, and try to see past the confusion in her eyes. Lately, all my mom does is sit in that old, brown leather chair, her head cocked towards the window. Staring at something beyond the concrete driveway. She wasn't like this before. No, that extraordinary, cunning woman could nev...
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