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How much or how little of my life belongs on these pages?
It may be impossible to continue without writing more in detail about the dailiness in life. Not to say the trivial, but how one gets through difficult times.
I seem to be craving architecture. A structure for the mind to contain the emotions. How to keep the building standing is one element, but doing so with grace is another.
My mother is dying.
I had to write this to Gideon Loewenstein.
I didn't want to.
In order to continue this blog I must also write it here.
She is fierce.
My husband says that we are all dying.
It's not the same.
Bob Caigan went to work the last time I saw him in 1978.
He wore a blue jacket and a Paul Smith tie
with motorcycles on it.
It looked like a Peter Max print and yes,
I was an 11 year old who knew that.
I remember thinking about starting this project
and what to call it.
BOB'S DAUGHTER came to mind very quickly.
I have often heard that if one does this or that then -
"Bob's your uncle!"
As a kid I would laugh and think, "No, he's my father!"
The last time I saw my grandmother, Bob's mother,
she did not remember me.(I don't remember what she was wearing).
She was 97 years old and had memory loss.
Uncle Herbie and I tried to give her clues to my identity.
Finally I said, "I'm Bob's daughter"
She paused
became agitated
looked me and said,
"Bob's dead."
I said, "Yes, but I am his daughter."
She looked at me.
I said,"I was born before he died."
She looked at me.
Then she said,
"Well you seem like a nice girl, so if you say that
you are my Grand-daughter then I believe you."
End of discussion.
She was very practical.
I'm...something else.
Love,
Bob's Daughter
It may be impossible to continue without writing more in detail about the dailiness in life. Not to say the trivial, but how one gets through difficult times.
I seem to be craving architecture. A structure for the mind to contain the emotions. How to keep the building standing is one element, but doing so with grace is another.
My mother is dying.
I had to write this to Gideon Loewenstein.
I didn't want to.
In order to continue this blog I must also write it here.
She is fierce.
My husband says that we are all dying.
It's not the same.
Bob Caigan went to work the last time I saw him in 1978.
He wore a blue jacket and a Paul Smith tie
with motorcycles on it.
It looked like a Peter Max print and yes,
I was an 11 year old who knew that.
I remember thinking about starting this project
and what to call it.
BOB'S DAUGHTER came to mind very quickly.
I have often heard that if one does this or that then -
"Bob's your uncle!"
As a kid I would laugh and think, "No, he's my father!"
The last time I saw my grandmother, Bob's mother,
she did not remember me.(I don't remember what she was wearing).
She was 97 years old and had memory loss.
Uncle Herbie and I tried to give her clues to my identity.
Finally I said, "I'm Bob's daughter"
She paused
became agitated
looked me and said,
"Bob's dead."
I said, "Yes, but I am his daughter."
She looked at me.
I said,"I was born before he died."
She looked at me.
Then she said,
"Well you seem like a nice girl, so if you say that
you are my Grand-daughter then I believe you."
End of discussion.
She was very practical.
I'm...something else.
Love,
Bob's Daughter
"Well you seem like a nice girl, so if you say that
ReplyDeleteyou are my Grand-daughter then I believe you."
This last almost made me cry. How devastating to have a lifetime of memories of your grandmother and not be recognized by her. Time is cruel to us--and by this I mean, to the old.
Having recently read of your mother's passing, it is poignant to go back and read this entry for the first time.
At the time I just kept trying to figure out the puzzle of her memory loss. Then I decided that she wasn't really my Grandmother, but then she told me, "What a big bottom you have!" and then I thought, "Yup, she's still Granny!" We did manage to have some sweet moments. For example, she cuddled me in a sweater lest I catch cold in the ninety degree heat.
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