Something has only now come into my possession: all my mother's daily journals. I am feeling incredibly overcome with emotion as I realize her many dreams went unfulfilled, particularly in the fields of writing and art. Her detailed writing includes the preparation of daily meals, conversations with neighbors, weather reports, trips to the store (choice cuts of meat at 79 cents a pound) and anger and frustration with the inevitable elements of daily life. Additionally, there are letters she had written to friends and family that are likewise in my possession.
It's going to take months to get through all of this ...
I horribly misjudged my mother ... her friends and family were her life.