Well – your book arrived last night. I wonder what you’d think. It looks pretty good. The cover has several photos of you, with Keet’s house in the background. It feels like a kind of completion for us, or at least, a step in that direction. I wanted to give it to you, this little homage, this little collection of memories. I don’t know how it will affect me, as the reality of finishing it sinks in, but I’m glad to share the book with our family – a little thank-you for taking me in, a little gift to those who have waited at their own love room doors after loss.
In New Orleans, I took the book into a not-so-welcoming bookstore to see if they’d carry it. I tried to tell a clerk the background story, and about our family – how so many generations grew up in one place; how Papa worked in the school system for decades, and the school is named for our relatives. Then a customer interrupted to say she was from the Ama branch of that family. She talked about Uncle Dick, and the judges and lawyers, the so many familiar names. We ended up laughing and hugging, while the impassive clerk looked on.
I’m not sure if they will carry the book or not, but it was a sweet thing, to stumble over one more link to you and the past.
Well – not much else to say, but I love you. I always did, and still do. I am still stumbling over little bits of your trail, even now.