With my sisters and Mom and all her side of the family, you have to be careful what you say.
If you say “I’d love one of those!” they insist “Take it” and send it home with you.
That’s how I got this handy-dandy jewellery bag that is hanging on the bathroom door. I admired Joan's and asked where I could buy one.
Today is nine years since Mom went. I still have trouble saying "died." And while I think of her often, and enjoy thinking of her and talking about her, I don't think of her for long. It's too painful, and if I'm alone, I'll cry.
When she was dying, I couldn't imagine life going on after she was gone. I couldn't imagine myself 10 years into a future without her. And yet, here I am. There's something about it that makes no sense.
I've decided: Supper is one thing that makes a house a home. Not breakfast or lunch, not even love or curtains. It's supper.