Today I get to scratch something off my "To Do" list which has been haunting me for over two months. I've sent a lot of thank you notes to the people who expressed their sympathies on the death of my mother just before Thanksgiving, but I could not bring myself to write to the nurses and aides at the nursing home where she spent her last two years. Today I not only wrote the notes, I delivered them in person at lunchtime with a plant which had a "Thank You" balloon attached. Yes, I cried, and so did some of them. Yes, Super Snoop still drives me insane and always will. But I feel so much better. There are still half a dozen notes to write, but none of them is as emotionally dangerous as these were. I'll finish them before bringing dinner to my mother-in-law tonight, and then I shall put the funeral home's white bag into the attic, with cards, and spiritual bouquets and obituaries and get on with the business of healing.
The author, whose children have actually made it all the way through college (well, except for the one who is going for his PhD) is a lady of a "certain age" as the French say. She survived menopause and adolescence occurring in the same house at the same time and is now trying desperately to make it through the next four years with cheerfulness intact. Things don't look good.