She dropped the" in-law" somewhere along the way:
I was the daughter she never had.

In her last illness we chatted over the phone,
exchanged family news and celebrity gossip.

One morning she asked if I felt better, urged me
to walk with a stick if my legs still hurt,

"now mind you do.."

I promised I'd be careful, didn't bother to explain
I'd had kidney cancer not achy legs.

Details weren't important.I knew what she meant.
A memory had escaped, freed us both

to a warmer place before dementia locked
the doors again,deep-froze the key.