In my childhood my mom wasn’t much for curse words — but delightfully as we aged her expressions became more salty.

At her funeral reception, my dear friend regaled small clusters of mourners with a story of how my mom confused the words “bullshit” and “shitfaced”

More than once my mom said she was completely “shitfaced” while waiting for an extremely late repairman, or some such person.

When corrected she would exclaim “oh, I just said drunk, didn’t I? I meant the one that’s for mad! I was BULLSHIT not shitfaced!”

I love that story. I love that my friend loves that story. I love her for loving my mom.

When I wrote thank you cards (entirely because they meant a lot to my mom, I think the bereaved should be exempt from thank-yous, quite honestly), I almost always signed them, “thank you for loving our mom.”

We love hearing the stories. Please keep telling
them — to me, to your friend about his dad, your coach’s daughter, your sister about her husband…we love feeling the company in the love and the loss.

Grief is my side hustle.