I am not sure how to add it all up, the slow turbulence that has followed the death of my cousin Bob. But whatever can be said, I have uncharacteristically grown to accept my moods. And even learned a thing or two. When I met him, I was 22 years old and only six months out of protracted hospitalization. It was summer, my stamina still low, and I was shellshocked and implausibly visiting Britain for a few months. I vaguely knew of these London relatives. I had the phone number of one of them, Lotte Read more [...]

One of my British cousins has made a fortuitously timed visit to these shores. As another mutual cousin lies dying. All in our early seventies, very early if anyone wants to know, and it’s come to this. Where it comes for everyone. Bob’s cancer and slow death has been a sad preoccupation for the last year or more. And now he is far away in some Catholic hospice in western Paris, and capable of humor as recently as last week. And I already miss him. With loss in the air, cousin Sandy and I Read more [...]