by Nancy Stricklen-Juneau
My mom’s 13th birthday gift was a kitten. Gray and white striped, she named it “Tabi”.
Tabi is important to this story, because, of all the things my mom was forced to leave behind, her name, her belongings, her friends, Tabi was what she remembered, even as an old woman, when dementia’s eraser wiped out most of her mind. Continue reading
Hawaii Pacific Review 