I still feel like a piece of shit. Even though it’s been a few months since Mom died. I really thought I’d feel… different. Lighter, maybe? I don’t know. Just not like this. I ran my small business, built it from nothing, got my kids through college, bought a house hours away from home base, figured I was a grown-ass woman. Like, I handled things. Until the phone rang, and it was always the care home. My mom was… not an easy person. And then she got sick, real sick, and it was like dealing with a toddler with a grudge. I was the one who sorted the care home, found the decent one, paid for it, made sure she had everything she needed. My sister, bless her heart, lived five minutes away and visited once a month. Once a month! I was driving four hours every other weekend, sometimes more, doing her laundry, listening to her complain about the food, the nurses, the other residents. Everything. And every time the phone rang, my stomach dropped. One time, one goddamn time, I was swamped. We had a huge order, inventory was a mess, staff was out sick. Just one of those days where you're running on fumes and trying not to scream. The phone rings, it’s the care home. My heart starts pounding like always. I pick it up, all ready for some emergency, some fall, some drama. And the nurse, bless her heart, says, “Mrs. Henderson, your mother seems to have… misplaced her dentures.” Misplaced her dentures. That was it. Not a medical emergency. Not a broken hip. Not even a missing person. Her damn dentures. And you know what I did? I laughed. I actually laughed out loud. Like a crazy person. I just burst out laughing, thinking, *this is it? This is why you called me, four hours away, right now?* The nurse on the other end went silent, probably thinking I was a monster. And then I felt this wave of shame wash over me, because it wasn't funny. My mom was old and frail and confused, and she needed her teeth. And I was laughing. A grown woman, a business owner, a mother, and I was laughing at my own mother's misplaced dentures. What kind of person does that? I died a little that day, I swear. I made myself stop, apologized to the nurse, told her I’d call my sister to go look for them. My sister, the one who lived five minutes away, who probably wouldn’t have laughed. Mom died a few months later, and honestly, the relief was immediate. But then this new, heavy feeling set in. Like I got away with something. Like I wasn't good enough, even when she was alive, even when I was trying my hardest. Even now, thinking about it, I still feel like that awful daughter who laughed at her mom's missing teeth. Sometimes I wonder if they ever found them. Probably not. Fucking dentures.