It is a few days after Christmas and our home phone rings. I see my mother’s name on the caller ID and answer it right away.
After she says hello and asks how I am, her voice catches and she tells me my grandmother has died. She gives me some details and I listen and respond.
I’m sorry, I say.
And I am sorry.
I am sorry for the loss.
I am sorry for my mother’s loss and the loss of all who loved my grandmother.
I’m sorry for my loss too, for missing out on all the years I should have stayed bonded to this grandmother who loved me.
I am sorry that the traumatic breakup of my parents’ marriage caused such unjustified estrangement from my mother and her family.
I am sorry life is so brutal sometimes.
It is mostly brutal when people are brutal.
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