She told me once, in year eleven, that she had thought about what her life would have looked like if I hadn’t been here. She said she thought she would have been in a facility by year eight, maybe year seven. She said: “I know how much it costs. I’m not talking about the money.”
“Okay,” I said.
“I just want you to know I know.”
“I know you know.”
She nodded. She went back to whatever she’d been doing. A few minutes later she said: “You should go see Maya this weekend. You haven’t been out in a while.”
I went to see Maya that weekend. I told Maya what my mother had said. Maya said: “That’s the most she’s ever said directly, isn’t it?”
“It might be.”
“Your mom talks in shorthand.”
“Always has.”
I loved her in that shorthand. I still do.
THE ESTATE PROCESS IN DETAIL
Patricia Okafor was not just the estate lawyer; she had known my mother from the will-writing process and she had, over the years, fielded a question or two from me on unrelated matters. She was around fifty, professionally warm, with the quality of complete attention that good lawyers and good doctors both have and that is rarer than it should be.
When I first called her after the funeral, she scheduled me for a thirty-minute consultation that turned into an hour and a half. I gave her the full picture: Daniel’s invoice, my documented expenses, the handwritten note, my concern about the estate timeline.