One day left

Lee looked over his shoulder at himself writing.

He avoided his thoughts for two days, paying more attention to family and friends gathered to celebrate college graduation of a loved one, his niece.

As usual, he observed group dynamics, removing himself from the equation to assess potential storylines while participating as a character in his own narrative.

His mother was worried.

At 83, she wanted to attend her 65th high school reunion but doesn’t drive at night.

She thought her grandkids and their friends were spending the night and the house wasn’t cleaned up for guests.

The next day she was going in for a memory test with a neurologist.

Two days ago, her son, Lee, the narrator, nearly died of shock after consuming something — powdered or processed egg and egg byproducts — and the next day her granddaughter received her baccalaureate degree at a graduation ceremony.

Today, Mother’s Day, her immediate family took her to eat at a restaurant they last enjoyed together 50 years ago.

For her, the last 50 hours were more eventful than the last 50 days or weeks.

Her thoughts weren’t used to social media speeds, where ten minutes offline was a week in realtime.

To her younger family members, her memory wasn’t working like theirs and appeared in comparison to have problems as she repeated questions to get answers she could work with, to integrate into her thought patterns.

Lee watched and listened.

Tomorrow was important for his mother.

Tomorrow was also important to him, for tomorrow, a few hours away, was the first day of the rest of his life.

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