There were two, one night after the next, of my mother that I remember having, although the second has faded and I cannot retell it. It was friendly, between both of my parents as well, as was the first. There, they were living in San Francisco and I was visiting. It was a sunny day. My mother, cooking, was happier and more vibrant than she was in life, and my father, more relaxed although more cognitively impaired. We were to go to the grocery store to pick up a missing item, and he thought we could just go look at the sunset in Santa Cruz on the way. My mother and I laughed.