A few years ago, an elderly woman entered my video store, along with her daughter. The1was showing an air of impatience,2 her watch every few seconds. If the daughter had possessed a rope, she would have 3 her mother to it as a means of pulling her along.

    The old woman began to pick DVDs herself. I walked over and asked 4 I could help her find something. The woman smiled up at me and showed me a 5 on a piece of paper.6 rushing off to find the DVD for the woman, I asked her to7 with me so I could show her where she could find it and I wanted to enjoy her8 for a moment. Something about her movements9 the memories of my own mother, who'd 10. As we walked along the back of the store, I described what was on the shelves: old television shows, action movies, cartoons, science fiction. The woman seemed glad of the unrushed “trip" and 11 conversation.

    I said to her daughter,“12 some advice?”“ Of course not,” said the daughter. “13 her” I said. “When she's gone, it's those precious 14 that will come back to you. Times like this, I know.” It was 15  .I still missed my mom and remembered the times when I'd used my impatience to make her 16.

    Together they 17  their way toward the store's exit. They stood there for a moment, side by side,18 the holiday crowds. Then the daughter glanced over and looked at her mother lovingly. And slowly, she placed her arm with apparently unaccustomed affection 19 her mother's shoulders and 20 guided her back into the crowd.