Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and I'm truly thankful that she is not stuck in that aged, confused, frail body any more. Still, I'm having my moments. My friends, who have always amazed me as being God's most generous gift to me, continue to outdo themselves in expressions of love and support. There have been phone calls and flowers, meals and hugs. I find that I do better when I'm working, or organizing, or anything. The moment anyone is sympathetic I fall apart.
There is Thanksgiving to prepare for, and I'm so not ready. Then there is the eulogy to write. I'm not sure how I'm going to manage to deliver that, but I will. I've got all six living grandchildren as pall bearers, three of them reading, one playing violin, two bringing up the gifts. It feels like a production. On the desk in my living room is small picture of my mother and me, taken when I was about two, on a picnic somewhere or other. She was in a stylish two-piece suit, and I was wearing a yellow organdy dress. She must have told me that, because the picture is in black and white. She always had style. I'd never seen the picture before I had to close out her apartment and move her into the nursing home. I find myself staring at it a lot these days and trying to understand what I'm feeling. What's it like to be a sixty year-old orphan?