My mother died three weeks ago. Watching her fail was shattering; yet with the final breath there also came — I admit it, am I wrong to do so? — a sense of relief. So this is what it is, thought I. You’re here, and then you’re gone.
My brother came for the final ten days. He had been estranged from both my parents for all of his adult life. For good reasons, I know because I was there. He missed my father’s death altogether. But he was here for Mom’s. And this is what I am thankful for this year: he worked and he worked to find some common location where he could meet Mom in peace. I think he succeeded. He’s lighter now. As he said at her grave site, “I wish it hadn’t taken so long, but I learned that you can live a life angry, or you can choose love.”
Happy Thanksgiving, friends. Spread the love thickly. We’re only here once.