My father passed away suddenly and unexpectedly upon his retirement when I was in my mid twenties. Among the condolence letters my mother received was one that read, “I’m so glad you have your daughter with you. I’m sure she is some comfort.”
The year following my father’s death I reverted to a teenage attitude and was more a source of turmoil than comfort, storming around wallowing in my own grief with little thought to my mother’s own suffering. But, because our relationship was one ultimately based in unconditional forgiveness, even during the storm, we understood one another.
The phrase “some comfort” joined a cadre of ongoing “inside” references laden with meaning in that secret world where our respective senses of humor intersected—a world of allusion and sly glances that no one but us fully understood.
Some of you bore witness to this world. You were part of a group of close friends and family I kept updated during the last year of my mother’s life. Now, with you in mind as a central audience, I have compiled a group of 12 essays I wrote beginning just before my mother died and flowing through my last four years, chronicling how the wisdom gained through being there for my mom’s death has given me a new lease on life.
Seasons of Letting Go is a book of comfort and a book of joy. It is my gift to you. I hope you will all enjoy it this holiday season and on through Epiphany, which was my mother’s birthday, and the day I wrote the last chapter, a year ago. Click this link to order.
frances figart 
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