For the six years that Anthony was in the nursing home my mother was his most regular visitor (apart from Ming and me of course.) The Parkinson’s disease had taken its toll and many of our friends and family had dropped away, not gradually but almost immediately.
But not my mother. She was only a year older than Anthony but she had her health and she was as shocked as I was at his rapid decline and then his further, gradual decline in the nursing home.
Every Sunday, after church, she would visit us and she would chat to Anthony comfortably even when he couldn’t reply. My mother brightened up every Sunday for us, her conversation interesting and funny, her clever anecdotes hilarious, her presence in that small room an absolute joy.
Over the years/decades by then, my mother and Anthony had formed a strong unwritten bond of loyalty to me. They both adored me. The mathematical equation of 18 and 41 had long ceased to matter, and my husband was dying.
On the night that he died, I couldn’t get hold of my mother on the phone so she didn’t know until the next morning.
And that morning my mother’s love got me through that dreadful, aftermath day.
jmgoyder 
Your mother is a wonderful person.
Good work!
Anthony taught me so much. His courage and fortitude, absence of self pity, and acceptance, were part of his character, and a shining example. And the love between these two was something rare and absolutely beautiful, getting stronger as Anthony got weaker. I have never seen anything to match it. An agony of love.
Thank you, Mother!
Don’t know why my name appears as Anonymous!
I quite enjoy your Mother as well in her writings.
what a gift she is to both of you
A mother’s love and acceptance is a blessing