Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Eighteen years ago today my Mother died.  That year, it was Easter Week, which created complications in terms of funeral services and burial in the Catholic Church.  But then Mother never did anything the easy way.

Maybe I’ve said this before in one of my couple thousand blogs; but it bears repeating.  Mother was stiffly starched; by comparison I am wash and wear.  Once she made up her mind, she never visited an issue again.  Me? I’m always changing sides.  Which lent to a prickly relationship between us.

Still, I never am far away from thinking of her on this day. I believe she died at the right time.

She missed the Clinton impeachment effort; and, as a staunch Clinton supporter and fellow Arkansas resident, she would have been so disappointed.  She missed the dismantling of her beloved TWA, where she had twice been a flight attendant. She also missed 9/11 and a variety of wars and public scandals and stock market fluctuations.  Most of all, she missed her husband who had died fourteen months before.

So I think of her and smile.  And believe it all turned out right.