It’s been a week, now, since Mom passed. Her funeral was this past Sunday; the flowers sit upon the hearth, and the well-wishers have gone home. We are now left with the monumental task of documenting my parents’ estate — decades worth of property to sift through. It’s a daunting task, and one I want no part of, though I expect I’ll be needed.
And, as my wife and I try to regain our equilibrium, there is much writing to do. The Serpent of Hellas. The Orc Book. The Damascene Blade and the yet-unnamed third book in the Emir of the Knife trilogy. Perhaps the last bit of work on the Secret Project will take precedence, who knows. Then there are the short stories and ATTIKA, things that bring in nary a penny, but that I like doing. It is a busy time.
Even so, through these somber days I only want to sit with my back to the wall in the room where both my parents died and talk to them. I want to ask them if I did enough to help them . . .