Okay, maybe there is a plan after all.

Dear Mom,

"If we can be together when we're 2,000 miles apart, then death isn't going to keep us apart."

Remember when you said that? It was comforting, although I was secretly pretty skeptical. But in that same conversation, I asked for a sign (if you could do it without scaring the shit out if me) and when it happened, you sent one. You were with me.

When I landed a dream job in Santa Fe, and a place to rent dropped right in my lap, I knew that the move was the right one, and I suspected you had something to do with it.

And when the house happened, well, then I knew for sure. You found me a historic house in perfect condition, that I could afford, right in back of the freaking clubhouse, for God's sake. Stepless, too, and on the bus line, with a grocery store within walking distance. So not only was it the perfect house for now, it was one I could grow old in. And thanks to my job, I would have a pension. I was in a city I loved, with great sobriety and solid support, the perfect job and a pension to boot. I was set. I was going to be okay.  Thank you a million times over!

And then, two years ago, the job went away, along with any hope of a pension. What the fuck?! This wasn't the plan. What did it mean that it all went away? That it was just coincidence? That you were gone now? That you were never there to begin with? The gifts you gave me, layered on top of your unwavering faith in a higher power, had given me a foundation for a vague faith of my own, a faith that I depended on: When I do the next right thing, the Universe seems to conspire in my favor.

So when it all went away, well....

But at least someone rented my Santa Fe house right away, so that wonderful little crib was still part of my future. The plan was bruised, but still viable.

Then I lost my tenant, and I couldn't make the mortgage. And again I had to ask, what the fuck?

With deep sadness (and renewed bitterness against That Person), I put my little house on the market. At least I wouldn't have the financial obligation anymore, but man, the whole thing really sucked. I mean, there was no plan anymore, and I was alone, really alone, stranded in the wilds of upstate bum-fucking New York. Wonderful job, yes. But nothing remotely resembling a plan.

Well. My little house sold in less than 24 hours, for the full asking price. It closed last week without a hitch. The smoothest, fastest real estate transaction I've ever had. And as it turned out, that house was a great investment. Like, really great.

And then I knew again. Mom. This was your plan B, or maybe this was the plan all along. You did once say you wished you could leave an inheritance. And that's exactly what you did.

This understanding makes it all okay. I can work with this, even if turns out to be just a comforting delusion. There is no down side to believing.

So thank you, Mom. I love you now and forever. And thank you for your tenacious and unconditional love.

I miss  you.