Dad answered and put me on speakerphone, then placed a plastic plate divided into five colored sections in front of mom at their kitchen table and said, it’s Laura, time for your morning medicines; I said, Mom, pick up the biggest oval white pill in the center of the plate and she said, “which one?” and I said the biggest oval white pill in the center of the plate, and she said, “I didn’t know it was my job to take it,” and I heard her lift the glass of iced water, so I read aloud to her the Brian Doyle piece about the little kids playing soccer and stopping to carry a praying mantis off the field, and then I paused and said, Mom, take the oval burgundy capsule, the one in the purple section of the plate, and she said, “after I swallow my cereal,” and I waited, and she said, “I have taken that burgundy pill, and it’s gone,” and I read aloud the George Ella Lyon poem about being lifted up “like a post hole digger” to climb into the bathroom window when Lyon was little and her family was locked out of the house; then I told mom to pick up the tiniest flat white pill in the green section of the plate, and she said, “I don’t know what it’s for,” and I said, that’s your blood pressure pill, and she said “if you’re sure,” and I said yes, that’s the one, and she said, “well, okay,” and I read to her the Brian Doyle essay called “God” about the bus of kindergarten kids passing by, one boy wearing a green and purple dinosaur hat, and then I told mom to pick up the gray oblong pill, the one in the orange section of the plate, and she said, “I don’t have any water,” and I called out—perhaps too loudly—Dad, Mom needs water, and then I heard the pouring into the glass, so I said pick up that gray oblong pill in the orange section and I’ll read the George Ella Lyon poem about the lady sticking fingernail clippers and pipe cleaners and coin purses up “on the library wall above the couch” to see if her husband notices, and mom giggled and said, “I like that one,” and I said I do, too.
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Laura Johnsrude is a retired pediatrician living in Louisville, Kentucky. Her essays have been published or are forthcoming in Fourth Genre, Bellevue Literary Review, River Teeth, Hippocampus, Brevity, Appalachian Review, The Spectacle, Please See Me, Minerva Rising, Drunk Monkeys, Under the Gum Tree, The Examined Life Journal, Sweet, Swing, and in The Boom Project anthology. She is Assistant Book Review Editor for the literary magazine Good River Review. Her essay, “Beholding Something Fine,” in the Fall 2023 Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine, received a Pushcart Prize nomination.
Artwork by Dinty W. Moore

13 comments
Jan Priddy says:
May 20, 2025
Yes, this is very dear, and familiar in some ways.
Sarah Powley says:
May 20, 2025
This is love. Thank you.
Leanne Summers says:
May 20, 2025
In that phase with my mother now. Each pill becomes an opportunity. Brian Doyle would be so honored to hear his words put to use so generously.
Soccer Picks says:
Jun 3, 2025
What a beautifully tender moment captured between you and your mom! I’m curious—did reading aloud become a regular ritual for you two, or was this a special occasion? It’s amazing how stories can gently guide us through everyday challenges. Thank you for sharing this intimate glimpse of care and connection.
Laura Johnsrude says:
Jul 17, 2025
This was a daily morning ritual, “talking mom through her meds,” to help Dad from far away, over the phone.
dana zed says:
Jun 4, 2025
beautiful and fun. not sad about a sad situation. thank you
Pennie Nichols says:
Jul 3, 2025
Oh, my heart. Beautiful glimpse into the beauty of loving while losing.
Carrie says:
Jul 8, 2025
Love the way you articulated this. Thanks for writing it.
Colleen Hull Gray says:
Aug 4, 2025
Your lovely essay brought me to tears. Thank you.I find reading with my adult daughter (who lives 700 miles away) helps me stay connected to her. We couldn’t have a 30 minute conversation every evening, but we can read that long.
Pearl Marry says:
Aug 18, 2025
Reading to my mom became our cherished ritual during her recovery. Whether it was her favorite classics or the newspaper, those moments created connection when she needed it most. Your post beautifully captures how shared stories comfort both reader and listener. For caregivers – don’t underestimate this simple act. It’s not about the book, but the presence you bring. What was your mother’s favorite read-aloud?
Mazur says:
Aug 19, 2025
Reading this felt so real — caring for loved ones is full of small, tender rituals. It reminded me how even daily self-care, like a simple skincare routine, can be an act of love for ourselves too. ?? Just as we remind our parents to take their medicine, we should remind ourselves to hydrate, protect, and nourish our skin every day.
Daisy Winnona says:
Aug 28, 2025
Reading to my mom during her recovery became our sacred ritual. Whether it was her favorite novel or the morning paper, those moments offered comfort and connection when she needed it most. Your post beautifully captures how shared stories can heal both the reader and the listener. It’s a gentle reminder that presence, not perfection, is what truly matters. Thank you for this heartfelt reflection.
Susan says:
Oct 14, 2026
Such a beautiful interweaving of daughter and mother, pills and poetry, instruction and invention. Thank you. I still regret that I didn’t stop and read poetry or literature to my mom in her final year. But so many regrets and wishes fill us up. I would’ve read “Kindness” by Naomi Shihab Nye and excerpts from The Tree Grows in Brooklyn. And I would’ve pulled a book from her collection of old, thrifted books from library sales. I can imagine her closing her eyes and signing at the gracious words.