My mom loved to play board games. I’ve heard her say that some of her best memories are of us as a family playing *Sorry!* when Eric and I were younger and games like Rummycube and Monopoly when we were in middle and high school. On her 70th birthday, Eric and I presented her with a customized board game we called “Momopoly.” We had fun charting her life and coming up with the cards, every one of them a story and unique to her. “You hang laundry outside to dry. Collect $100.” “There’s a sale on green bananas. Collect $25.” “You find cash hidden 14 years ago in old appliance. Collect $200.” The properties to buy were places from her past – the schools (Boston Latin as a kid, Boston University for college, Hofstra for her Master’s), Camp Arcady where she met my dad when they were both counselors, Kew Garden Hills in Queens where they first lived together, Temple Or Elohim where she went for the High Holidays and Mongo Pond where we used to go camping in our pop-up trailer. We got the miniature playing pieces from an online dollhouse shop -- a telephone, a box of tissues, a Renoir painting, a book, The New York Times. Instead of “Go” the corner spot said “Go Already” and instead of jail one could go to the bathroom. Thus a “Get Out of the Bathroom free” card was key. The game is hanging on the wall in their living room. She had had it framed, complete with all the cards and game pieces on display. I’m back with my dad today, looking up at it, feeling so glad that my brother and I did that for her. I remember her expression when she saw it for the first time: there was shock for sure, but also something like warmth and well-being, the kind of warmth that comes from the realization that we really paid attention to her, that she made an impact on us, that she was loved. It gives me a kind of peace – and perhaps an easier pathway to acceptance -- to know we got that message across to her loud and clear.