"Such pretty feet. I've always thought you had pretty feet, Mom."
He washed and massaged her feet as she was lying in the bed there in the front room of a son's house.
All her children were there in the house. Perhaps drinking coffee in the kitchen. Somewhere reminiscing.
They were there. All six of them.
"Well, why didn't you ever tell me that? It would have been a nice thing to hear."
She was propped up on some pillows watching him caress her feet.
She was smiling at him, weakly, but with pleasure.
She passed away an hour later.