There was a moment at the lawyer's office this afternoon when I looked down at the list of Mom's accounts and assets, at a chart centered on a piece of plain white paper, and thought, "This is all that's left of my mother." I took a few deep breaths, blinked the tears back for a later time. Listened. Nodded. Signed a hundred papers.
As we walked back to our cars, I told my sweetie about that awful, aching moment. He put his arm around me. "Your mom's there every time you cry over a lost kitty finding its way home."
I know. I know this. I know she's there when I get excited over a book, or fold towels as she did, or choose kindness even when anger would be easier. There are a thousand examples. A million. More. At some point, that will be a comfort.
For now I'll just be happy if that little tortoiseshell cat made it home.