And so it begins . . . journey through loss

Sunday, January 15th was my mother's first day back to Mass after a month-long journey through a virus that turned into pneumonia. At eight-nine, COVID hit her hard in September after an adventure to San Francisco with Uncle Vince. Then a sneaky virus stole her energy and all her reserves in late November. Fast forward to emergency absence days, doctor's visits that took two of us to manage her mobility (thank you Ashley), and some drastic weight loss, mom was rallying. She was grouchy and wanted to get out.

The phone was ringing as we returned from church. It was Vince. The police had come knocking on the door of his "getaway" house in Essex and informed him that his nephew Steven was dead. And that there was an investigation underway. And that drugs were involved. And that he was next of kin. 

Steve was only 58, yes a loner, but we all thought he was okay. Not perfect, but in our family, we tolerate eccentricity. We actually revel in the fact of our eccentricities. No one thought it would go that far. Not death. And yet, it was only the beginning.

Later I would look up at the evening sky dotted with bright stars and planets winking back and say to myself, "Yesterday, he was alive, and I wasn't in the middle of this mess." I became the executor of Steve's estate by virtue of energy and a simple okay. What a quagmire I jumped into that day.