Being able to see the home movies of R with his parents and his nine siblings throughout his childhood and part way through his teenage years is deeply affecting for me. As the date of R's death last year approaches, the recent gift of the home movies from R's sister fills me with gratitude. R and I were born within 24 hours of each other in 1949. He was a one year old in New Jersey. I was a one year old in California. There is healing for me in telling our story in words and photos and drawings and paintings. It wasn't all good. It wasn't all bad, either. It was something else.
It's still in the thirties here, but I took a short walk with a friend yesterday. This is a view from Marine Park, looking out at Bellingham Bay and the San Juan Islands:
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