Mom’s attention fluctuates greatly. We are walking outside noticing the red hibiscus when she veers off course and tells me she’s looking for something in her bag. I stand patiently while Mom opens every zipper pocket, takes out things she’s squirreled away—like a bottle top or three pretzels wrapped in a napkin—then puts them back into their respective spaces. If for a fleeting moment she knew what she was looking for, the image or idea of that thing is now long gone. “Here’