My 83-year-old mother had always been fiercely independent.
Even as the years passed and everyday tasks became a little harder, Margaret still insisted on doing her own grocery shopping. She liked choosing her own apples, checking the expiration dates on the milk, and walking through the familiar aisles without anyone rushing her.
So that Saturday, when the grocery store was packed with customers, she refused my offer to do everything for her.
“I can manage six items,” she said with a small smile.
She had picked up only bread, milk, tea, apples, soup, and a small chocolate cake. Nothing more.
The total came to just $28.47.
But by the time we reached the checkout, the long line behind us had grown even longer.
Mom reached into her purse for her wallet.
She couldn’t find it.
She checked one pocket, then another.
Her hands were trembling slightly as she searched through the small bag.
I could see the impatience beginning to build behind us.
Then the woman directly behind us let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Oh, come on.”
Mom heard her.
She immediately looked embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
The woman pushed her overflowing cart closer to the register.
“If you’re too old to handle shopping, maybe you should stay home.”
Several people in the line turned their heads.
My first instinct was to say something.
“Excuse me?”
The woman rolled her eyes.
“I’m just saying what everyone here is thinking.”
I looked around.
