My mother died February 4, 2024. Last week I ordered an engraved inscription for the headstone she shares with my father, beneath which she has lain these 20 months. Why the rush, you ask? As my brother has commented on a few occasions, “She would not be happy with us.” Indeed, although in our defense it boils down to more than simple procrastination. A disinclination to say our final good-byes is another factor, and the pressure from beyond the grave to honor her appropriately is arguably the third.
When I was a child, my father, a genuine barrel-aged product of Kentucky, decided we would be skiers. Alpine, that is. He thought better of escorting his children to the since-renamed Powder Hill in Middlefield, Conn., before he’d developed a modicum of proficiency, and so he set about becoming a skier. How hard could it be?
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Keep it Clean. Please avoid obscene, vulgar, lewd, racist or sexually-oriented language.
PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR CAPS LOCK.
Don't Threaten. Threats of harming another person will not be tolerated.
Be Truthful. Don't knowingly lie about anyone or anything.
Be Nice. No racism, sexism or any sort of -ism that is degrading to another person.
Be Proactive. Use the 'Report' link on each comment to let us know of abusive posts.
Share with Us. We'd love to hear eyewitness accounts, the history behind an article.