Dani Shapiro, the compelling memoirist and novelist, said in her memoir, Devotion: “The family of my childhood has become dust.” Likewise that has been true for me for a dozen years.
My mom was the last of my parents to pass away. She was as upbeat as anyone I have ever known. Mom found the goodness in people, particularly those who were blessed to be her children.
My older sister and younger brother have all acknowledged given our difficult father, she was the person who guided us through the stormy North Atlantic that was our adolescence. She was the light at the end of the tunnel.
Of my grandparents her father, Isadore, stood out distinctly. He was very close to Mom, my siblings and me. His unforgettable smile was “several miles” wide. He loved us just as he loved her, with his entire heart. My mother’s eyes would glisten when…
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