It was three days before Christmas, and somehow I knew it had to be bad news. If I let it keep ringing, would the bad news go away? It didn’t. I eventually picked it up and it was my sister, Karen, telling me our mom and dad had been in a car accident and killed instantly. In a desperate need to get home for Christmas, an overworked semi-truck driver fell asleep at the wheel, crossed the center line and hit them head-on. Our parents had a substantial estate, which was all accounted for in their will, along with their living trust. They had planned everything out to the last detail. All expenses were covered: the service, the burial, and the gathering afterwards. They’d even picked out the flowers they wanted. I wish I’d inherited one-tenth of their organizational skills. Their prized turn-of-the-century home was located in one of the oldest parts of Seattle, Madison Park. My sis is a year younger than me with an ever-growing family.
