by Gayle Ann Weinstein

“Go check on Gramma,” my father said.

In 1983, my father sent me to Miami to check on my grandmother, Jean Weinstein, who had just lost her youngest son, my uncle Jerry, and before that her husband of 57 years, my Grampa Sam. I was 32, a widow with a 12-year-old son, living in Buffalo Grove, a suburb of Chicago. “It’ll be a vacation,” my father said. “On me.” The deal was that I’d report back on Gramma’s state of mind.

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The Refusal of Time: Visiting the Old Old

The articles in this special section:

Wordless Tea

by Liat Katz

The Gingham Dresses

by Alisha Kaplan

Reading “Dear Abby” in Massachusetts

by Jayne Lampert

As told to Susan Schnur