Inheritance
The moon is a bright smudge high in the sky out of focus behind a veil of hazy clouds. Sarah and I shut the doors of her truck and walk through the parking lot toward the restaurant. We start with bourbon on the rocks to take the edge off the last few days. We talk about the people we've encountered. The kind vet who arrived perfectly late to put down an old dog with compassion. Our aunt's medical care and support teams who answered all our questions with patience and optimism. The local senior housing expert who will send us a list of facilities to explore. The friendly attorney who made things simple and even recommended a financial advisor. The helpful firefighters who opened a locked fire-proof safe with two quick strikes. (It was empty!) The welcoming bike store owner who made an insecure young woman feel a little bit excited about riding a bike. And the crowd of Indian wedding guests who made our hotel such a joyful, colorful place to be. What do we owe our family members? What do they owe us? The answer feels obvious when ties are strong and the love is open and flowing. Less so when relationships are strained. When people harbor hard feelings. When old hurts aren't cleared up. When children inherit land sown with seeds of fear, misunderstanding, anger or resentment planted years before. What do we owe each other? Care for our land and for one another. Love isn't always easy. Our job is to find a way to create it to hold it to share it and to plant it for those who come after us.
