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Three days before her death, my mother told me—these weren’t her last words, but they were pretty close—that my brother was still alive

That was all she said She didn’t elaborate She said it only once And she wasn’t doing very well Morphine had already applied its endgame heart squeeze Her skin was in that cusp between jaundice and fading summer tan Her eyes had sunken deep into her skull She slept most of the time She would, in fact, have only one more lucid moment—if indeed this had been a lucid moment, which I very much doubted—and that would be a chance for me to tell her that she had been a wonderful ood-bye We never said anything aboutabout hi bedside too

“He’s alive”

Those were her exact words And if they were true, I didn’t know if it would be a good thing or bad

We buried my mother four days later

When we returned to the house to sit shivah,rooe I was there, of course My sister, Melissa, had flown in from Seattle with her husband, Ralph Aunt Selma and Uncle Murray paced Sheila, my soul mate, sat next to me and held my hand

That was pretty much the sum total

There was only one flower arrange Sheila smiled and squeezed e, just the drawing

Dad kept glancing out the bay s—the saun twice in the past eleven years—and muttered under his breath, “Sons of bitches” He’d turn around and think of someone else who hadn’t shown “For God’s sake, you’d think the Bergoddamn appearance” Then he’d close his eyes and look away The anger would consu I didn’t have the strength to face

One more betrayal in a decade filled with them

I needed air

I got toto take a walk,” I said softly