Idid not like racing around the heaps of wheat with the other grandsons while my grandfather and the other shepherds jokingly bet on us and lifted the wineskins. I feared losing. But I got over it and came here. From this land that was only a name, barely an image, for him, for us, then, I often think of my grandfather and his flock. I fear losing again, but it is another loss.

Cesar Mun~oz Acebes

Washington

Dad's hands were small, but mine were smaller. His warm palms gently heated my hands. Alzheimer's robbed his ability to talk. Before his illness, there were few tender moments. Angry and impatient, he was far from an ideal father. With Alzheimer's he was gentler. One time, he walked me to my car, opened the door for me and even stayed outside to bid me farewell. The image of him waving goodbye remained in my rearview mirror until I could no longer see him at all. Now that he's gone, these are the memories I cherish.

Cara Liebenson Stringer

Columbia

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