There had been a reassuring routine every Saturday morning for the past year. I would prepare my mom’s favorite banana bread, choose a warm cardigan, and go to the assisted living facility where she lived. Due to my demanding job,

I had to make the painful decision to put my mother, Joyce, 79, in a care facility after she had suffered a serious fall. It was a decision made with love and care to make sure she got the care and security she was due.

Every time I visited, her room was filled with family photos, freshly cut flowers, and the aroma of freshly baked goods. We would paint her nails, tell stories, and reminisce for hours. In spite of everything, our relationship remained unbreakable.

When I showed up at the nursing home one Saturday with a brand-new banana bread loaf and a brand-new cardigan, I was greeted with confusion. The receptionist raised her head, perplexed.