We have had such a good weekend.
Alexi's father is here visiting. I can see him in Alexi, in Abbott, in Cal. He's been teaching them a few things, and perhaps they've taught him a thing or two as well.
His father has been sorting through everything in his house, trying to decide what to save, what we would like to have. As we were falling asleep last night I told Alexi how melancholy it makes me feel to hear about making those kinds of decisions. I have so many pictures from my maternal grandmother, many of them of people long gone before I was born. I save them, care about them, because they are important to her, because she is important to me and has told me stories about the people in them. (And she has carefully labeled them all.) I understand what the pictures mean in relation to who I am. What will happen to them when I'm not here to care about them any longer, and who will remember those stories? I think it's time to pull out the albums and start sharing them with Abbott and Cal so that they, too, have a connection with this part of their past; will have a reason to want to preserve them. I'm hoping Alexi's father will do the same thing with them; tell them his stories, regularly, and share the pictures, to keep them alive.