You just looked at her from an armspan away; she was fishing for a seat, and luckily, a woman in her twenties stood up. She sat down, arms and arm bars dangling overhead. Your instinct told you to check her hair. And there it was. The sign. It was only natural that someone had given up her seat for your mom; your mother had graying hair all over. At 54, she’s already dying and you’re only realizing it now.
(writing practice inspired by unphotographable.com)