All My Knotted-Up Life: A Memoir

by Beth Moore

Words have a life of their own. When we no longer have the warm body of someone we loved, if they lived long enough to speak and spoke often enough in our hearing, they have a way of living on through language. Their words are right there, floating in the air, ready to wet the tongue as a moment arises when you know good and well what they’d say.

I never resented how her grandparenting exceeded her parenting. I beamed, feeling like most mothers do. You want to know how to love me? Love my children. You want to be good to me? Be good to my children.

The downside of human closeness is that, to the degree you have loved their presence, you grieve their loss.