My son slid a care home brochure across the dinner table and said, ‘Dad, we already put your name on the list.’ I did not argue. I finished my coffee, thanked them for the chicken, and let them believe I was the old man in the room who had not understood what was really happening.
They sat me down at my son’s dining table with a casserole, a basket of warm rolls, and a manila folder placed just a little too neatly beside the salt shaker. I want to be fair before I tell you anything else. The casserole was excellent. Cara had used real thyme instead of the dried…
