Such a seemingly reckless decision should not be considered in a vacuum. The empty vodka bottles that my mother stashed in the back of her closet in the year after Nancy died are testimony to how guilty she must have felt about leaving that day. I couldn’t judge her any harsher than she’d already judged herself. If I was going to move on, I’d need to find a way to forgive my mother, just as she had forgiven me for my many faults and misdeeds over the years. She was so much more than this one tragic decision.
