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

    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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