Damn

Some psychologist pegged the stages of grieving: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I don't remember denial or bargaining.

I remember anger.

"Damn." That's what I said when my brother called to tell me. I was on my way to the airport, trying to get to see Mom one last time, and I was mad. That someone hadn't phoned early enough for me to have caught an earlier flight and at Mom for not waiting for me.

And I remember a winter of depression.

But I think what I’ve felt the most over the last year is regret. Regret that Mom hadn’t had an easier, happier life. Regret that we hadn't talked more. Regret that we weren't close. Regret that I never forgave her for any of that.

But mostly regret that all our chances to change any of those things are gone.