In the years that followed the attack on Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, Grandma Rose sent off her two sons and son-in-law, all her nephews and the sons of her cousins, along with witnessing the deployment of sons of friends and neighbors. The war was a great equalizer. It captured the sons of Christians, Jews, African, European, Asian, Hispanic and Native Americans. Even though, in those bygone days, ethnic and racial groups were segregated, America sent all its sons, whether the apple of their parents’ eyes or orphaned. The promise that they’d return to a better world was delivered to most returnees at the war’s end. For others, it would take more waiting and for some, the wait would last for generations. Still, while we wait, our futures are brighter than anywhere else on earth.Read More
One More Thing Before I Go
Last spring when the scent of lilacs followed me from the backyard into my kitchen, I thought of my mother’s distant cousin and her daughters, who, like my lilacs, visited yearly when the earth warmed and the days grew longer. I pictured us all in idyllic memories of jump rope games and playing with dolls. But, except for MaryAnn, the littlest daughter, I could not remember their names.
A few years ago, I could have called my mother. She would have teased me for my forgetfulness, asked what I was making for dinner (there was never a phone conversation where we didn’t talk about food) and repeated her mother-to-daughter mantra, “When are you coming over?” We would have shared stories of those long-ago days before hanging-up and re-joining our lives. But my mother has passed on and while the images of our family lingers-the details are lost. I write One more thing before I go, my living record for my son, in hope that one day, when he has a question I can no longer answer, it can be found in this blog.