Reading to others

When my kids were growing up, I used to read them books. At the start, it was just picture books, then chapter books. Eventually, I read the Harry Potter series to them, and it’s a memory I’ll cherish.

But now I am experiencing something new: reading to my mother.

As she’s grown older, her eyesight has become worse and worse. But before it got bad, she was reading my co-authored books, the Shepherd & Wolfe series. She got through the first three, but my writing partner and I took a while to get the fourth book out. By the time we released it this year, my mother could no longer see the words on the page.

I knew she’d only experience it if I read it to her.

I planned on reading it to her but put it off. We also don’t have an audiobook. It’s something we’d love to have, but we can’t afford it. Then my sister talked about doing it when she visited—but the trip was hectic, and it didn’t happen.

So the other week, I started reading it to her.

It’ll take some time. I only see her on the weekends, and she’ll undoubtedly need reminding of what happened previously (her memory isn’t great either). But over the next few months, I’m hoping we will get through it.

I don’t have a point to make—except how odd the experience is. My parents read to me, then I read to my kids, and now I am reading to my mother—all I can say is it sucks to get old.