It’s hard losing your parents. You labor under the strain of not having told them more often that you love them. You remember all the things they did for you, and sit and wonder if you did much for them.
I was home in Lubbock for the holidays a few years ago. Mom had insisted on making my favorite breakfast—biscuits and sawmill gravy. We had a fine time. As we drove away, she was still standing on the porch, waving. I somehow thought it might be the last time I would see her. She died the next month. She…