Here Is Wonder

Over the course of my life I have experienced the deaths of several family members. Thankfully, the majority of these have been both peaceful and at a “good age”. When my grandfather passed away at the age of 90, I was sad but not distraught; reflective but not distressed. Now, just under two years later, my grandmother - Grandma Ruth - is also dead. However, the end of her life marks the passing of more than simply a single person; it marks the death of so many memories. At 96 years old Grandma Ruth was the last surviving member of her family, outliving all eight of her siblings. Likewise my grandfather; I have no grand-aunts or grand-uncles left. Indeed, to me her death marks the passing of a generation; the end of a lived connection to so many of my family and to our past. Grandma Ruth was the last link to parents a well as several of her siblings; murdered in the Holocaust. In my Grandma’s lounge, now still and empty, there hangs two small black and white photos of her parents. Th