Many will identify with scenes in this New Yorker story

For the past day I've been trying to memorize his name and I think I have it: Said Sayrafiezadeh - whose story The Last Dinner at Whole Foods (excellent title) graces the current New Yorker. It's a sweet story of a young man caring lovingly for his terminally ill mother, who, by at least his account, is relatively young and quite attractive. The story develops through a couple of scenes, and some bits of memory, as he recalls his childhood and her caring at that time for him - in a world where the father has abandoned the family. The scenes, as I recollect, are the aforementioned dinner, the mother kind of picking at her "broccoli cake," which is something you'd probably find at a Whole Foods buffet; a trip to a 3D movie screening of Life of Pi, the son's visit to a long-term care facility with its weird smells and aura of despair, and a final dinner at a home overheated by a wood stove that he didn't think he could ignite. Many readers of a certain age will identify with these scenes of caring for an ill parent, and the tenderness and affection - and the aura of loneliness, as we know so little about the young man and about any other connections in his life - are quite moving; the story, however, lacks the arc or sense of direction of sense of closure or even of conflicting forces that I look for in short stories - it feels like a glimpse or fragment, but not really like a completed. I think stories need a more clearly defined shape or design in other to stay in our minds - we need something, a handle so to speak, by which to hold them and carry them around in our memory.