I’m Here for Them, Too
“He liked BINGO,” Mom told me between bites of lemon oregano chicken. “What’s that?” I asked. Mom’s dysarthria, an unwelcome leftover from her stroke four years ago, sometimes makes it hard for me to understand her. “Can you say it again?” “He liked BINGO,” Mom repeated. “George.” “Oh yeah, I saw him playing BINGO with…