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

Christmas.

I had woken at 5:30, made coffee, pressed my good blouse, and put every document I owned into the leather portfolio my late husband Raymond had given me the year we retired.

I hadn’t slept well, but I hadn’t cried either.

I was done crying.

I had cried in October, in November, and through most of December. Gerald had been my only sibling, my continue reading …