I was the second of three to be born; the only winter baby. Her guinea pig, always on hand for taste-testing new recipes before family dinners. The last to remain at home while the eldest and youngest found marriage and families of their own. Hockey nights in Canada shared over a bowl of popcorn, duets in the kitchen to a crooning Conway Twitty, and giggle-filled movie nights.
Twenty-three of 29 years spent under the same roof while her other sons could hardly be bothered to come home. And still when the dementia stole her moments, mine was the first name forgotten.