My late mother used to hate when I called her that because it made her sound dead. I told her it wasn’t my fault she was always late.
Now that she really is dead, I feel a little bad about it.
But not so bad. People deserve the names they get. Death doesn’t change that.
I’d rather her be alive, of course. But I won’t miss telling the waiter ‘one more minute’ while checking my watch. I won’t miss that at all.
At least I can still call her my late mother. At least she’ll never be late again.