My father’s mother would be my age now when I was born.
She was in my life with some consistency until 11 or so when my parents started their troubles and eventual divorce.
She was a handsome woman. Funny but seemingly stern or indifferent.
I do not have good memories of her and not bad — per se.
My strongest recollection is her chiding me about the lilac tree on the lots separating the yards.
After the divorce she told me from her porch that the lilac wasn’t on my land and therefore not mine.
I suspect that lilac is about as old as me. Planted as a sprout close to my date of birth.
I think it is still there — but can’t be sure.
Last I saw it (the lilac tree) was December 2020. That was the last time I was at the family home.
All my life I wanted people and a place where I felt I belonged.
Now at an age where I could be having grandchildren — I have but three close living relatives and we have not much to do with one another
My mother’s family. Her youngest brother and her dead brothers daughter, and my sister.
These are all I have left.
And we never quite wanted each other.
