Recently, I’ve been thinking about memory and memories.
This past February marked 20 years since my father’s older sister, my Aunt Julie, passed away.
My father had died in 1990, and their younger sister, my Aunt Rebecca, is now the last surviving sibling.
I have my own wonderful memories of many special times with my aunts and my father, but I regret now that I didn’t ask them more questions about their lives growing up in New York City, about their experiences as children of immigrants, where their parents spoke a different language (Ladino) at home.