My mother died the day before Thanksgiving in 2007 and was buried a week later. My brother came for the burial. I wanted to do the service myself and I didn’t want anyone there who hadn’t been supportive of him and me.  Four people made the cut: Lisa, my mother’s next door neighbor, Kathie, my  Read the Rest…

Mid November my mother was moved into a private room, which to me heralded the immediacy of her death. One morning I found her dozing in a patch of sunshine.  I put my face close to hers.  When she opened her eyes, her face lit up with a beautiful smile.  She said my name and  Read the Rest…

In the last few episodes you met my mother’s new priest who had decided I was the spawn of Satan.  He (the priest, not Satan or the spawn) was determined to protect my mother from me.  I was just as determined to limit his influence. Read on: The day after my mother and I received the news  Read the Rest…

The last time I saw my mother in my childhood home, she looked pale and shriveled. When she leaned back and closed her eyes, she looked dead.  She had lost a lot of weight.  Far from being problematic to her, she thought it made her look young and sexy.  She kept saying she felt better  Read the Rest…

If you’ve been reading these pieces–cut from my memoir 99 Girdles on the Wall— in order, you’ll recall the 450 organizations my mother was leaking her pension to (The Mail) and the two attorneys my brother and I went through (The Attorney). Never a dull moment: On another front, my mother’s church was getting involved in her affairs. She  Read the Rest…

This is the second in a series of stories that were edited out of my memoir 99 Girdles on the Wall.  It’s still good stuff!  If you are dealing with aging parents, may you feel less alone as you read it. After my father’s death, my brother Alex and I hired an attorney to help us  Read the Rest…

When I was working on my memoir 99 Girdles on the Wall, my editor blue-penciled several chapters about the end of my mother’s life.  He said they sounded crazed and angry. Crazed was the word my analyst used to describe me during that time as well.  The legitimacy of anger and crazy feelings aside, I  Read the Rest…

It’s been a dispiriting November, but the sun managed to bogart the sky for a few days last week.  Long enough for me to remember another November, five years ago, when the sun shone in a cloudless sky for the entire month.  I remember it because I spent much of that month driving the I-5  Read the Rest…

The Christmas cards have given way to thank you notes.  The transition is easy when one uses blank cards.  Now I am on to the subject of gifts which I described to my friend Nancy who can tell every time I have deconstructed a thought, as fraught.   Gifts can be a mine-field and I’m sure  Read the Rest…

Mai La was 18 years old when she got off the plane at SeaTac wearing her little Chinese pajamas.  I was 27 and waiting with Nghiep, a Chinese friend, and a photograph of Mai, courtesy of World Relief Refugee Services. It was 1981.  The “boat people” from Viet Nam were flooding the U.S. west coast.  Read the Rest…