My widowed mother had forged a full, productive life for herself, since my father’s death 25 years ago. She travelled extensively, kept physically active and prided herself in playing a competitive game of duplicate bridge. She had always been fiercely independent, caring for her own home and garden.
Although my sister and I lived a distance from my mother, we were both content with the fact that she had a strong social support system. Her phone calls were peppered with meals she was preparing, the bridge parties she was hosting and the local gossip. We were assured that all was well and life went on. Read the rest of this entry »
