The day after I wrote last week’s post, I thought I would start going back in time, to the 1800s, to my great-grandfather.
But then my brother and I talked.
I had texted my brother asking how involved he wanted to be in care decisions about Mom. We traded texts about that. Then I asked if he knew Mom had fallen about a month ago and added some details. He said he’d call in 5 minutes.
It doesn’t feel right to give the play-by-play of our conversation. I’ll summarize it by saying: we talked about money.
We talked about money when I didn’t want to talk about money.
And then my brother brought up something Dad said to him six years ago.
My father told my brother I had stolen from him.
Chewing the Cud of Good
Thankful for glorious crisp fall days.