An anniversary today, of ma’s passing ten years ago. A relatively brief illness–fifteen weeks from emergency room visit to her death–that sent more than one type of tremor through our family. Tremors that didn’t only make us all orphans, but also leave still-gaping wounds, some deeply unexamined and unlikely to be healed through time, it seems.
Our parents’ generation, born in the 1920s, was raised by 19th c. parents of the ‘old world,’ lived through a horrific economic depression, and served and sacrificed family and friends in an even more horrific world war and genocide. At least for our parents, it’s no small feat to have raised five relatively healthy children, put us through schools, and set us up to understand enough to be good parents ourselves.
It’s odd that I’m offeri...
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