I think it was because, for the first time since Lawrence died, I was not a passenger in my own life.

The will had tried to make me a problem to be managed.

Shirley had tried to make me a signature to be collected.

My own children, in their fear and confusion, had tried to make me a logistical matter to be arranged over my head.

And now, with my husband’s long patient work finally in my hands, I was none of those things.

I was the woman who had called the meeting.