If I can write deeply and meaningfully about the worst part of someone or about the stellar behavior of another, it’s because it’s in me, too. … It’s all of us.
In that balance of love and concern and holding space for loving them no matter what, another stoic lesson helps me: your self-interest is outside of me, outside of my control.
I doubt that grief has a one-size-fits-all strategy. The best I can do as I find my way through this darkness is give myself and others grace as we muddy this first set of holidays and memories with our awkward steps (and missteps) through them.
For these eight days away from home at home, mom has been whole. For me, anyway. I close my eyes and I see her through my front window. She’s weeding the walkway to my porch.