|Young Mom (center, top)|
|Mom, with her older sister|
But how do you celebrate a life, when details large and small are dissolving? When I was home in December, Mom woke up full of stories about her childhood home outside of Newport News, VA. She traced the town's few streets in the air, with her finger, before I gave her pen and paper. They took the trolley on these days, they went for a day at the beach, they played in the river, against their parents' wishes. This week in Pennsylvania, she asked my sister if she had always lived in our childhood home, had she been born here? The word untethering comes to mind.
|Art school drawing from Mom's stash|
Hopefully last night's blizzard won't prevent Sister from picking up the ordered birthday cake; and a box will arrive in the mail from us, with some decorations, a sticker drawing from the girl, and presents to unwrap. We'll peer at each other through computer screens and sing off-key and usher in the new year with family.