A while back I wrote about a call I received in court on a really bad day. It invovled mistaken identities, my mother, and the possibility of cancer. If you recall, there was an instant when I was relieved it was my mother – because it meant it wasn’t my wife. I’d made a choice, consciously or not, and it made me feel terrible. We all make them. I don’t think we can help…
I have a plan. Do you have any idea how odd those words sound in my head, coming from my mouth? Thanks to a gentle nudge from Cheryl, I’m going to try to exorcise a pinch of guilt this Friday by making the long drive up to Chattahoochee to see my mom.
Let it be known: this doesn’t make me a good son. A good son wouldn’t suffer from mixed feelings. Don’t get me wrong…