Editor’s letter
My mom died a year ago, and her passing brought me a disorienting mixture of grief and relief. She was 98, and had suffered from dementia for more than a decade. In her last two months, my mother’s joy in eating (“Yum, yum!”) finally faded, and seeing her laboring to breathe tortured me. When her body finally gave out, it was no surprise, but the sudden absence death creates is always a shock. In ensuing weeks, I found myself with what is referred to in our Last Word this week (see p.36) as “dreadful freedom.” I’d spent afternoons with my mom virtually every Saturday and Sunday for the 13 years since my father died, took her on my family’s vacations, drove her to doctors, hired and managed caregivers, winced as…