To start, I stupidly, unforgiveably, brought her food she couldn't eat.
Secondly, I couldn't understand a blessed word she said.
Then I wasn't strong enough to move her into a comfortable position in bed.
Lastly, I couldn't read her writing when she tried to put on paper what she wanted to say.
I stood over her bed and held her hand, her calm face looking up at mine as I cried.
"Mom, I have to go. I can't understand a word you're saying. I can't understand you, Mom. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I said, bending down to hug her. "I'll bring you soup next time, I promise, Mom. I love you."
"I love you too," she whispered.
That I understood.