Grandmothers offer the perfect opportunity to hear from the past, to hear what we most likely missed.
History is not the past
, it is the
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Ruth Bader Ginsburg died on Friday. There was expectation, of course, but the reality of her death is truly shocking.
"Calling All Grand Mothers"
A poem by Alice Walker, from her collection Hard Times Require Furious Dancing, calls on the grandmother spirit and on us to clear the way for wise women today, and tomorrow.
“That Age Is Over Now”
I have fleeting, but specific, memories of my great-grandmother, Edna Hellman, or “Grandy,” as my father and everyone else called her.
The Story of Rosa Puron
The story of my great-grandmother, Rosa Puron Garcia, is really my father Domingo Barros’s story.
On Invisible Pain
Being a mother is something that tears through the skin, leaving deep scars. It means to inhabit one’s own history, while living outside oneself.
“She was really my mother and she loved me to death, and I knew it because she would show me, I used to feel it, and she would give me anything that she had.”
My grandmother, who I called Nana, was the best-dressed woman in all of Berlin, or so my mother used to say.
Bell Tower for Hiroshima
My grandmother’s family was on the other side of the mountain when the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima seventy-five years ago.
I Never Met Jean Hellman
I have a grandmother I never got to meet. She was my father’s mother, Jean Hellman.
Knowing Her Only Through Pictures
I never met my grandmother, whose name was Tillie (Chaya Taube) Green; she died when I was just a few weeks old.
A poem about the author's maternal grandmother, Florence Hooton, 1912-1988.
Girl in Motion
It was a big deal when my grandmother bought the land on Carver Road in the 1970s to build her dream home.
My Grandmother Saved My Life
I almost never made it into this world due to China’s notorious one-child policy.
The Night Before My Gram Dies
When I was little she showed me how to dance in the kitchen. One knee raised, arms bent 90 degrees at the elbow...
A couple of months ago, while having lunch with my Dad, I reminded him that my great-grandmother, Sara, had come to America alone...
In August of 1936, my family, Mom, Dad, Nona, and I, were returning from Europe on the Conte di Savoia.
My great-aunt Florence (Florence Carey) was born in 1907 and died at 96 in 2003. She was never married and not an actual grandmother...
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