To skip the personal info, drop down to paragraph 4.I was not able to read at all for a number of days, but when I latched onto Agnes Grey by Anne Bronte several days ago, I've been reading and enjoying it ever since. I'm two-thirds of the way through as of this evening. I'm reading it on the Kindle, and I must admit I was originally drawn to it because it's a relatively short novel.
Last evening I returned home from a ten-day trip to Boston. My mother was diagnosed with cancer two weeks ago, and my brother and I zoomed in to visit lots of doctors, hear lots of opinions, do some of our own research, and, finally, with my mother's input, come up with a plan. A "big surgery" was a possibility, but all of our research and my mom's wishes ran counter to surgery as an option.
On December 7, Mom will be 91. She has had an extraordinarily healthy and productive life, and we all wish for that to continue, without interruption, for as long as it's possible. As she herself said, "A huge surgery? What would be the point of that?"
The miracle in all of this is that my brother and I, who have always been at thunderous loggerheads from it just happened because I think deep down we both knew we wanted it and needed mutual support. And in our togetherness, we were able to fully support our mother. It seemed like magic to me and I'm grateful.
Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier
3 hours ago