I Remember: When My Mom Became The Last Aunt.

Photo by Mayron Oliveira on Unsplash

I remember it was, Sixty-seven years ago, my grandmother passed. An event I’m surprised I even remember, considering I was six years old at the time.

Family from all over came to Syracuse to bury their mother. My Uncle’s house was packed; he was holding the repast dinner. Several of my cousins, some older, some the same age as me, tried making our way through the crowded rooms to get…