Last year I was on a trip to Alabama at this time and my cousin Michael sent me an email from California saying the blood tests were as bad as they can get. In Alabama I was visiting my grandma Beepske’s first cousin. They were double first cousins; their mothers were sisters and their fathers were brothers.  She was 92 so we spent a long time at appointments with doctors and in her living room sitting and watching the birds at the feeders. I was knitting furiously because I’m not wired to sit still for long. When I took some time to walk  in her neighborhood I searched for signs of life and could only spot it in the Mexican workers hired to do yard work.  In this unlikely place I think I was trying to understand who Beespke had been before her life got complicated. Life was complicated in Alabama too. She told me her family was concerned that I was there to take something. Of course I was, if you count the stories I heard and the lessons in embroidery. I recognized her fierce determination and it strengthened mine own. In a kinder moment, she said to me when I asked what Beepske had been like, “She was just like you. You could be the same person all over again.”

4 thoughts on “weekend

  1. Lovely ~ I so remember last year vividly. On this Sunday LY I visited Michael
    in the City of Hope (misnomer) and we said our final goodbyes. It was a horrible/beautiful day.
    I also remember your Thanksgiving Facebook message to me and the beginning of our
    friendship.

  2. Another haunting but beautiful post.
    Did it make you feel good when she said, “She was just like you. You could be the same person all over again.”?

    1. Hi Linda, It made me feel more connected, which is good. I don’t think of myself anymore as the hero of my own story. We are probably all as much of somebody else as much as we are ourselves, whatever that means. I guess I think the American idea of the individual is a myth. The story feels like the most important thing.

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