I went to Mom’s apartment alone last night. I knew, with our Aunt and Uncle coming today, that it would be the last moment of calm in her studio at the care home I could be with her in her space, unaltered, one last time. It was sad and comforting. I lay still and fell asleep in the space, on her bed, where she had lain so many evenings and afternoons before.

As I was packing her stuff, gently, for the last time. I found a silver coin. It fell off of something so that I could find it. Then it fell off while I was packing the car so that I could again find it. I’ve again put it somewhere safe, forgotten immediately. I will find it again when I need to. It only occurs to me now, when I get up this morning and wonder where it is, that it was meant for me. It was a silly oversized coin from a casino, somewhere that wouldn’t have been of any significance to her. On the back was an image, and above a title, The Sad Clown.

Pagliacci, the sad clown. She understood a certain sadness that we both shared. She knew that there were not always happy endings, she lived many lives without one. But this suffering, it makes us human. This is not American film, this is closer to an opera. Don’t be afraid to cry the sad cries for your self, your loss, your life. It’s probably not just going to be ok.

Now I must go, and be, but I take this lesson with me today. If I must be the sad clown, the jester, I can do so once again, for her, for peace.