The phrase in my head “preparations for loved ones” has a looking-upon-death feeling for me as I peek into my mother’s tiny assisted living apartment for the very first time on my last visit.

For my mother, who burrows her bones in her self-made nest for comfort on her next-to-new sofa, the phrase seems timely — if not for her, then for her family. Her body appears bunched up in a spiral to the left, her newly curled snow-white coif lays in a fluff around her freckled-flecked face. Her oversized spectacles have slid down to her nose tip. I think she is asleep, but I entertain a moment of death delivering her a gift.

Her faded hands curl around each other with slim fingers making intertwining circles. I gingerly approach the open center and tentatively touch the inside elongated winkles hanging down. I instantly sense her breathing through her fragile fingertips. I amaze myself with thoughts of both disappointment and immense relief in the same second.

Interactions that occur with mother during her less frequent waking moments remind me of patterns seemingly pushing in on me in moments of unawareness in my sister’s gracious house of hospitality. The part of me that has forgotten and forgiven is suddenly rudely awakened. I miss the cues of needing to ask before treading on most any territory, but especially around issues concerning food.

My response is what I consider a subtle confrontation with a sense of humor, but if the humor door isn’t ajar, it is considered revenge, or in best of times, tit for tat and from long ago painful confrontations that never got resolved. The drama seems to manifest itself at least once each visit.

Last visit nothing notable burst open in either my sister’s near-by household or in my mother’s presence, and I search for reasons. In rambling conversations during this most recent visit with my mother, I finally figure out that the presence of males in her surroundings loosen any resentments from her patterns and perhaps even travel to soften the third generation. Together, both households have lost four significant male relatives during early adulthood. I realize at that instant, that I felt I almost lost my two closest male relatives a few years ago due to health reasons. Both of them are still alive and well. I will no longer take this blessing for granted.

This time I do not take out my journal to record mother’s memories or ask questions as I usually do. On this visit my caregiver sister, Mimi, and I share playful and sometimes pseudo-competitive rounds of comparing our childhoods, chiming in on our legacy of values we want to pass on to our children and taking our 96-year-old mothers’ mind from her regrets, losses and increasing pains of aging.

And this time all three of us women laugh together.

If you are a caregiver or do long-distance caregiving, as I am doing, you may enjoy hearing my friend and author, Bernie. A national speaker from the Twin Cities area, Bernie Saunders will give a presentation on “The Healing Power of Relationships” on Wednesday at the Christ Episcopal Church at 204 W. Fountain St. from 7:15 to 8:30 pm.

His book, “The Grace of Ordinary Days” includes his colorful and creative photography of flowering stages of aging, highlighting his mother’s poetry.

Sara Aeikens resides in Albert Lea.