(TriceEdneyWire.com) – It was an autumn morning in 2018 when my phone rang in Washington, D.C. and I’ll never forget the sound of Mama’s voice on the line. She was calling from her home in Virginia, 100 miles away. Her voice, normally warm and sweet, was instead rife with anger.“Who took the knobs off my stove?” she demanded. My heart broke toward her. All she wanted was to fry herself an egg for breakfast.Related Stories
How could I tell her that we, her four adult children, had met and decided to have the knobs removed from her kitchen stove? In order to protect her life – we could never again allow her to cook on an open range because her doctor had told us that she was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.How could I tell her that the stove where she had for decades lovingly cooked all of our family’s favorites during the holidays was now off limits to her – forever. Her fried chicken, mac and cheese, sweet potato and apple pies would only be tasted in our imitation recipes.Hearing her angst, I responded quickly in what I thought was the best way possible at that time in...
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