Her hunched back and distant gaze are a heartbreaking sight. Not the mom I grew up watching; the fast-paced, sharp, almost intimidating force of energy who could walk into a room and either fix your life or tell you exactly why it was falling apart. Or usually both, honestly. If you had told me in ’99 that by ’25 my mom would be a dependent version of herself, I would’ve laughed in your face. Loudly. Probably insulted you, too. Called you crazy…or maybe worse. She was the brain of the family. Honestly, I’d go as far as saying she was the brain of her entire friend group — everyone’s unofficial…