I'm 78 now, and I buried my mother last month. It’s been… decades of caregiving, since my divorce, when my own world imploded at 53. The funeral was exactly what she would have wanted — tasteful, understated. Afterwards, though, that night, I felt this shocking lightness. Not relief, exactly, more like — a release of pressure, a chronic burden lifted. It felt almost… inappropriate. I miss her, of course. But there’s a quietude now, a strange, almost dissociative calm, that I didn't expect. I sometimes wonder if it's a form of anhedonia, or just… finally, quiet.