My Mother’s Birthday


We lost my mother on January 2. Today she would have been eighty-seven.  I wish I knew what to do or say, but I don’t.  I know that it isn’t going to be an easy day.  The entire process is not easy, including the legal circus.  The minute someone dies, vultures begin attacking.

They don’t give you time to think, just attack.  You don’t have time to mourn.  There’s nothing anyone can do or say.  It just seems wrong that tying up the lose ends of a person’s life should cost so much money.

Today I can’t mourn.  I can only be concerned about locating money to pay for probate, dealing with a reverse mortgage, and being homeless in six months.  Not only do I have this big void in my life, but I don’t know what to do.  In a house I was to inherit, I’m now living in packing boxes.

Tuesday evening would have been great for my mother.  She became a Donald Trump fan back in the 1970s.  At least she lived long enough to see him elected.

Today my mother would be eighty-seven.