I keep looking at these photos I took of my mother and my son, at the devotion between them. I can't share these photos on Facebook. The way my mother has aged, so suddenly and deeply, is distressing to some of my family members, it makes them gasp with pain and pity, and I don't want to put her out there like that. And yet, I feel perfectly at peace sharing the photographs here, in this even more public forum, where the only people who come around regularly are those whose hearts are open and willing to see what is noble and tender in these photographs, and not flinch at the diminishments of age. This is my mother who is 91. This is my son who is 21. There is such love between them. I marvel at it. I—who always felt the need to be formally well-behaved around my father's parents, whom I loved, but with decorum (my mother's parents died before I could know them)—am blessed to witness the closeness between my mother and my children; between my mother and her grandchildren there is no reserve at all, only deep familiarity and care.