When my son and his family came for the weekend, we were able to visit Mom for about a half hour before Shabbat came in. Roi, who is 2½, remembers his great grandmother, Savta Naomi. He knows she lives in a special home. Each time he is brought there, he visibly shies away from her, but he is also curious about who she is and why there are such nice games to play with. We did not speak about Mom again during the weekend. Roi developed a fever and was alternately charming and

“Oh, it’s my mommy,” she said as I entered her house this morning. I was not prepared for this—to be identified as her mom. On the other hand, I wasn’t shocked by it either. On any given day I might be her daughter, her friend, a school mate, a kind stranger. “Hi, Mom,” I countered. “It’s great to see you.” She gave me a big hug and we danced around the room for a while until she started looking for…something, this time by opening each of the small lacquered boxes that sit on