Mother’s death was unexpected, so sudden and bizarre. I found her will; she’d cut me out. Not surprisingly, though, my mother did err. She had forgotten to sign the will making it void. State law dictated that I, as her daughter, was the rightful heir after all. I understood my mom’s base instinct, a vile need to wound, having lived through her cruelty for many years. It didn’t come as a shock that even in death, she would attempt to shake me up a bit. Her intention, like the twang of a bass guitar, low and guttural, certainly resonated. Rude.