|Captured at the kitchen table: (front) Lisa, Cindy, Chris; (back) Jo, Sara, me. 1998|
|Lisa, Cindy,and me, under the Big Trees 1995|
|Some of us at Christmas more recently, with our matching red scarves.|
Of course, nothing stays the same.
Chris and I lost our houses in the fire that swept through the Oakland hills in 1991. The moms helped us move into temporary homes and didn’t leave until all the beds were made and the kitchen cupboards were filled. We kept up our meetings while the two of us rebuilt our houses, up the street from each other again.
The empty chair at the table, the candle that glows in her memory—words can’t really convey an absence felt so keenly. We miss her laugh and her spirit of fun, le bon temps. She asked to be buried here in Oakland, near her mommies.