Tell me about your family," I said. And so she did. I listened intently as my mother went through each branch of the tree. Years later, after the funeral, Maria had asked me questions about the family - who was related to whom - and I struggled. I couldn't remember. A big chunk of our history had been buried with my mother. You should never let your past disappear that way.

The dead sit at our tables long after they have gone.

I thought about all the people I knew who spent many of their waking hours feeling sorry for themselves. How useful it would be to put a daily limit on self-pity. Just a few tearful minutes, then on with the day.

God sings, we hum along, and there are many melodies, but it's all one song - one same, wonderful, human song.

You have peace," the old woman said, "when you make it with yourself.

There's a story behind everything..but behind all your stories is always your mother's story..because hers is where yours begins.

I was a workaholic. I never stopped. I lived in fifth gear. I bought cars. I invested in stocks. I made more money than I had ever imagined.