Sometimes more, because there is nobody cleanly to blame.
I turned back.
“Do you know what I keep thinking?”
Mom shook her head.
“If you had given it to me, I might not have gone.”
She blinked.
“I might have looked at Ethan and decided I couldn’t leave.”
“I know.”
“I might have deferred and then withdrawn a year later.”
“Yes.”
“I might have done exactly what I ended up doing.”
“Yes.”
“But I would have known it was my decision.”
Mom began crying.
Quietly.
I sat again.
“I’m angry.”
“You should be.”
“I don’t know how long.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t want you disappearing because you feel guilty.”
She looked surprised.
“You’re Ethan’s grandmother. You’re my mother. We still have birthdays and dinners and ordinary Tuesdays.”
“I’d like that.”
“But I’m not going to make you feel better before I actually feel better.”
