Your mother would not speak a word against you nor allow anyone else to.  So I held my tongue.  She was so very proud of her grandchildren that I didn't have the heart to tell her that I spent your one and only visit here picking up, cleaning up and paying up after your kids.  The broken lamps and picture frames were replaced quickly so she wouldn't know.  The only blessing to your whole visit was her smile and her lack of willingness to face the truth.  It saved us all from a harsh time, I suppose.  She never asked where her irreplaceable record collection went - whether she couldn't remember it or chose not to ruin what time she had left with negative talk.  I guess we'll never know.  Either way, it was painful to watch.  Her giving, you taking right to the very end.

During the years that I looked after your mother, she told me many stories about her family.  Her life was sad, her childhood deprived and she waited her entire life, it seemed, for the abuse and neglect to end.  She told me her stories in random sprints, falling silent afterwards for days.  At that point, I think that she always regretted her decision to 'share'.  Another month would go by and she'd be ready again.  She seemed happiest during that month - after she'd recuperated from the shame of divulging her secrets and before the need to do so again swept over her.

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