Family Travel / 22

I did see my Aunt Gale once, about a dozen years after my mother died, at Dawn’s funeral. Aunt Dawn fabulous in her casket. She’d been made up with lots of rouge in a gorgeous dress. She wouldn’t embarrass anyone now, with stumbling gait or garbled talk.

Aunt Gale looked gray and regretful; she hardly spoke to me. I couldn’t say much anyway, so strange was it to hear, in her polite dismissal, my mother’s voice.