Dear Lolo,
There was one night when I went to Ninong Jun’s room downstairs, and he was writing a letter to Lola. He was pensive but not sad, at least not that I saw. Even at my middle school age I remember thinking how touching, and meaningful it was. And sad in a way too. And so I realize as I write this that I don’t think I’ve ever written to you. But there have been many times I have meant to, and many times as you know that I’ve spoken to you since. I’ve been reminded a lot of you though. Brian moved back, and with him the rush of memories that always seem to come in waves every few years. There is so much that reminds me of you.
Even though you lived your last many years both in New York and Glendale, you always were and still very much alive to me in our house here, in Hunt Valley. I drove around the circle the other day and saw that so many of the plants had died or have been removed. And in my mind and heart you are still out there sometimes, in those warm humid evenings watering those plants. We did have a lot of fun, didn’t we? I know we, or at least I didn’t think so at the time but I’m grateful for the fondness I have when I remember those years with you. A lot were stern. Some were funny. Most of the time they were probably stern to you and funny for us. I can still see you holding Bri up with his leg and shaking him, and both him and I cackling in laughter enraging you still. I can hear you blasting “Black is Black” from your room upstairs, and I was struck the other morning when I went up to visit (scare) Bri in the bathroom and he was blasting his own music.
I thought of how proud you would be, as such an educated and distinguished teacher to know that your Inky is now a teacher in one of the roughest areas of Baltimore City, and Bri teaches of all things religion at the very school you used to drop us off with Dad every morning. They are proud of what they do. And I am so proud of them for you. I can see your face, smiling with glistening eyes.
Mik and I did the same thing a few years ago now when we first moved back from California. He sorted through a lot of your stuff. We found a pair of your dentures in a tin, with both shock and disgust and laughter. We put it in Bri’s trunk with a lot of his other things and I have been waiting literally years for him to find it, but I think he may have thrown them away!
Veronica is really great. You would love her too. I’m sure you already do. Who would have though? A house full of boys is now a house of men and women, boys and girls. We all went on a cruise this summer. You would have loved it. Tons of food and ice cream, beach bodies and traveling. Even though it was tiring, and maybe hard for you I’m so thankful we have those memories of traveling with you, to the Mediterranean and even to Ocean City. I miss those everyday memories too. Popeye’s chicken or Giant with your salad and wheat bread. Or the even better days when you used to wait for us at Village Sub and we used to get pizza, or donuts from Dunkin’ Donuts. Even after all this time, even after those places are gone and people have changed you still live in those days and times for me, with us.
I’ve meant to write so much this summer, and I let so much get away. So now, I’m trying my best to just start again. I’m sharing pictures here for you and for the rest of the family. Connecting where we are with who we were, times past with futures even brighter. Memories of you in the early evening sunset, with dreams of my brothers, my sisters, Jen and the kids in our own dawns. Writing memories as they happen as Mom and Dad work outside, pray or play with their own grandchildren. Mom always laughs at the karmic circle when the kids give Jen a hard time. I’m sure you’ll be laughing with those teary eyes too as the kids give them a hard time in the years to come. Hopefully (or maybe not), it will be a little less insolence, a little less upside down shaking, and a lot more learning and cherishing that I never took advantage of.
Goodnight Lolo. Love you. Miss you.
The Marana Family 