Dad held her while the rest of us sat quietly.
It wasn’t a perfect Thanksgiving.
But something important had finally changed.
Almost a year has passed since the anniversary celebration.
I wish I could say our family became completely different overnight.
It didn’t.
Mom and I still
have difficult moments.
We meet once a month for lunch at a small diner halfway between our homes.
Sometimes we talk honestly about the past.
Other times, we discuss ordinary things.
Work.
Weather.
Recipes.
The garden.
Mom has started speaking with a counselor through her church.
The first time she told me, she sounded embarrassed.
“I’m sixty-four, Olivia. Isn’t it a little late to start therapy?”
I smiled.
“It’s never too late to stop repeating something that hurts people.”
She looked at me thoughtfully.
“Where did you learn that?”
“From Aunt Ruth.”
Mom laughed.
A real laugh.
“Of course you did.”
