I have a mother. Her name is Joan.
My mother married a man named Leonard. They had a daughter. They named her Lenore.
My mother married another man, his name was Lawrence. They had one son and two daughters. They named them Kerry, Colleen and Shannon.
Kerry died shortly after his birth. My mother did not go to his funeral.
My mother lived with a man long enough that it was considered common law. They had a son. They named him Mark.
I called my mother today, on the eve of Thanksgiving. I called her today because tomorrow is all about football. My mother loves football. I love football.
My mother lives in Vermont.
My sister Lenore lives in Vermont.
My sister Colleen lives in Vermont.
My brother Mark lives in Connecticut.
I live in Connecticut.
Today when I called my mother, I asked her if she was cooking.
My mother is not cooking.
My mother is going to Mark's house.
My sister Lenore is going to Mark's house.
My sister Colleen is going to Mark's house.
Everyone is going to Mark's house.
Today, on the eve of Thanksgiving, my mother let it slip that Mark lives in Vermont.
Where and when did Mark move to Vermont?
My mother will not tell me.
My mothers family will be together on Thanksgiving.
And I am now, finally, astutely aware that I am on my own.
My mother did not go to my son's funeral.
My mother will tell you, "I don't go to funerals."
They won't see this because they don't read me.
And you will never hear me speak of them again.