Old age has a way of softening edges and replacing them with gentle appreciation, grace and stoicism. My parents and I have lived long enough to pass from the parent/child roles to now a wonderful adult friendship full of love and laughter. We just completed a book about our experiences as a close family living in Cuba before the revolution. My sister and I and both our parents worked for about 2 years reviewing old letters and journals plus hundreds of photos of our families 122 year history of living on that beautiful island. Our story was the last chapter of a long legacy. It was cathartic, poignant, sad and often funny, the reminiscing that took place about our shared experiences as a young family in an exotic land. When we were forced to leave our Cuban home for the States, we, in our stiff upper lip way, never discussed what it all meant..It wasn't until this book was written that we shared the huge loss that we all felt from having to leave our real home, friends, and the closeness of our family.
This little piece is of my parents. They are truly two parts of a strong whole. My father, at 89, the figure with the cane, though blind, navigates literary and figuratively my mother who is 87, and by extension the rest of our huge family. My mother a whirling ball of energy, is always scurrying off to give to others and create exotic gardens in her wake. The palm trees are a metaphor for the deep love of the tropics that we all carry with us.
This little piece is of my parents. They are truly two parts of a strong whole. My father, at 89, the figure with the cane, though blind, navigates literary and figuratively my mother who is 87, and by extension the rest of our huge family. My mother a whirling ball of energy, is always scurrying off to give to others and create exotic gardens in her wake. The palm trees are a metaphor for the deep love of the tropics that we all carry with us.
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