There we sat in my 2024 Mustang GT. I drove, of course. Mom couldn’t drive. The strokes saw to that. Saw to a lot of things—reasoning, emotions, cleanliness, compulsivity...did I mention reasoning?

As I took the wide left-hand turn, the car behaved as if it were on rails. Mom gripped the door handle, as she always did. I finally asked her why she held on so tightly. She replied, “Because I’m afraid the car is going to tip over.”

I mimicked my favorite emoji—the facepalm.

Did I mention reasoning?

“Mom...the car isn’t going to tip over.”

“Well...okay. Can we stop at Starbucks?”

I cringed and shook my head. The woman loved Starbucks, but everything they served there was bad for her. My family, friends, and I were trying to instill healthy habits. Mom was 75 years old, had suffered two strokes that partially paralyzed her left side, and was 65 pounds overweight. 

“Starbucks? We don’t need no stinking Starbucks,” I replied.

She gave me the look...that “Mother” look. Although the stroke had reduced her mental capacity, she still had it within her to give that goddamned look, the one that made you cower, the one that made you feel like shit.

“Alright, fine.”

So, I asked Siri to guide me to the nearest Starbucks. 

“Can we listen to Ozzy?”

“Of course we can.” That took the sting out of “the look.” Mom did and said a lot of things to piss me off, but she was a headbanger, which did me proud.

And so, during our trip to Starbucks, we both banged our heads to Ozzy’s latest album.

Once there, I entered the drive-thru, turned to my mother to get her order, but found an empty passenger seat. 

“Never mind.”

I drove off, disappointed in myself for once again believing that my dead mother had been in the car with me.