Granted such a desire may seem strange. After all, it’s not 1964 and I am not a woman who spends time carefully preparing for a leisurely day of bridge and shopping. These days the dressing table seems a relic from another time, full of memories perhaps, but in no way a necessity.
Perhaps you wonder why I write about all of this. This is the third post I’ve written about my mom’s death. And it may not be the last. Is she paralyzed by grief you might ask? No. Is she okay? Yes, I am okay. But life is busy and death is such a demanding teacher…
In the end, my mother died of hypovolemic shock. This means that during the 48 or so hours between when we decided to stop treatment
Dear Fox, Old Friend, Thus we have come to the end of the road that we were to go together…
As we all know, there are “choices” that are not choices at all.
This morning, I started writing sitting on a seawall where my young son was fishing. Computer out, glasses on, skin tan, and my hair a