Mom doesn't read my blog

Dad did, and would email me about the posts he particularly liked.  Dad was pretty forward leaning for an Old Guy Professor.  He said that when he wrote with a pen, he wrote a word at a time.  When he changed to a typewriter, he wrote a sentence at a time.  And when he switched to a word processor, he wrote a paragraph at a time.  His output of scholarly works showed this to be a true fact.

Mom doesn't spend much time online, and so she hadn't seen many of my posts (yeah, yeah, her and six Billion other people ...).  But we talked about Dad tonight, and I told her that writing about it had made it easier for me.  That all the comments that all y'all left had made it easier.

Show me, she said.  And so I did.  It was great - maybe we've  both been working past the most cutting part of the grief, each in our own way.  But joining these different ways gave us a new opportunity to talk about it, and explore his life.  At the end, we both felt better.

Joy shared is multiplied; grief shared is divided.

And a quick note to Bluesun, who left this comment to this post:

All I can say is

be glad of the times you had,

and

don't forget your mom.

Your advice wasn't needed, but it was exceptionally useful.  When she let inertia get in the way of coming to visit, I thought on your post, and insisted.  It's been a blessing.  Thank you, my friend.

Life is good, when you're with family.  Sometimes life is particularly good.  This is one of those times, made possible my the miracle if the blogosphere.