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My Dear Little Bea
Little Bea In early August of 2014, I returned to New York from cleaning out my mother and father’s house. We were getting ready to sell it. It was a difficult time, but it was also a time of finding “lost” memories and articles of clothing and jewelry that reminded me of their presence and of their physical lives. I found two rings – one of my father’s with gold and a red ruby in it and one of my mother’s with a pale green jade stone. When I wear them, I wear them carefully as I do not want to lose them. In photographs of my father I can…
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The Shape of Grief
I did not know the shape of grief until my healthy father and my vigorous mother died a few short months of each other. I find myself sifting through the old coins my father left me and I am not counting the value of money, but I am feeling each one as though I was he. There are the coins from Reykjavik, Iceland where he was a sailor in WW II in 1942. And all the silver coins feel so thin in my fingers – so worn and so wonderful. And my mother – there is her light green night shirt from Orvis that I gave her to wear after she returned from…
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The Shape of Grief
I did not know the shape of grief until my healthy father and my vigorous mother died a few short months of each other. I find myself sifting through the old coins my father left me and I am not counting the value of money, but I am feeling each one as though I was he. There are the coins from Raekeyvk, Iceland where he was a sailor in WW II in 1942. And all the silver coins feel so thin in my fingers – so worn and so wonderful. And my mother – there is her light green night shirt from Orvis that I gave her and she wore…
