The Peterson family goes around the table sharing remembrances of their lost mother. Even the little boys, who never met her, have something to say about things they've learned about Linda. By the time we're done with cake, I feel like I knew her, too, even though all I did was mow their grass as a teenager. When it came to be my turn, I was stunned when Alice's father reached for my hand and thanked me for helping around the yard so they could get more time with Linda in the hospital. I almost lost my s**t and wept right there with them.
This family is certainly different from mine. I vacillate between sorrow and rage when I think about how my mother's death is the great taboo at our house, and my father's drunken absence is the elephant in the room. Why don't we ever just sit and talk
