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 things at his home, trying to decide what to save from his past, what we would like to have. As we were falling asleep last night I told Alexi how melancholy it makes me feel, having to make 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, time and time again. (And she has carefully labeled them all.) I understand who they are in relation to who I am. What will happen to these pictures 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 their grandfather will do the same thing with them; start to tell them some of his stories, share the pictures, to keep them alive.