True story. At the trust meeting, my daughter said: “She has no say.” I reached into my bag and…

to the things that hold their shape when everything else doesn’t.

My daughter had been 36 when Raymond died, old enough to manage her own grief.

She had been, in those early years, genuinely loving.

She had called often.

She had come for holidays.

We had been, for a while, the kind of mother and daughter who talked about real things.

I’m not sure when that continue reading …