I’ve written several posts about my mother. I’ve talked about her fried chicken, twice. I’ve rhapsodized about her cornbread, also twice. I’ve posted about all the books we read together from 2010 until 2017.
One thing I haven’t written about is her death.
My mother would have been 83 today, if she had lived another 10 months. She left us on July 30 last year, and for those who knew her well, her passing was as quiet and easy as one would expect. She was ready to go, and she slipped away from us with barely a ripple into unknown waters.
I miss my mother, but I’m grateful for the 48.5 years I had with her. In one way or another, she believed (and eventually taught us to see, albeit grudgingly, at times) that “it’s all so interesting.” That was her take on life and death and everything in between.
Happy birthday, Nana. You were right: it’s all so interesting.