Wednesday, December 28, 2011
I gladly accept, too, his heart. His willingness to rearrange this very afternoon so that he could join me in a winter trip out to my mother's grave. In two days she will be five years gone.
"But you're so busy," I said, when he offered to come.
"No, no, Mom. I'm not too busy. Not too busy for that."
We stood before her stone, a polished red granite. We placed a basket of greens by the stone. We remembered her out loud, one to the other, and then we walked this path to the car.
He understands honor, this beautiful, grown-up kid of mine.