Written by fatherhood contributor Shaun Groves.
Mom and I grabbed a cart on our way from parking lot to grocery store. We passed through the automatic sliding doors together, cooled from the Texas heat by the immediate welcomed whoosh of AC.
A good way through our list, we saw her.
Bent over at the shoulder blades. Hair that shade of pinkish silver denial. Spotted hands on the crossbar of her shopping cart, pushing hard against it. Wrestling her way down the aisle in a losing battle against a wobbling stubborn wheel.
I passed by. But my mother? She stopped.