The smallest tragedies keep haunting one after a loss.
Mom was not quite halfway through a novel when she died. I found it in her nightstand today as I began the process of sorting through her closet to donate what my sisters-in-law and I don’t want to keep.
Jo Nesbø’s The Redbreast is a wonderful read, too, though a surprisingly gritty choice for Mom. She tended to prefer a comedic or cozy murder mystery. If it had been a Mary Daheim or Elizabeth Peters caper, I bet she would’ve finished it.
♦
Really Wonderful Things 
Hope this finds you well, and gradually healing. Thinking of you and yours.
All the very best.
This is my first time visiting your blog and I am very fascinated. Many thanks for sharing and keep up 😉
About the only thing better than having the privilege of sharing my thoughts with the world via my blog is the knowledge that someone is reading them and appreciative. Thanks for stopping by! 🙂
Much love to you and yours over the coming months. No words of mine will really help, but sometimes I think there can be a little comfort in the well-wishes of strangers.