Today is a bittersweet day for me–10 years since my Grandma Ruth passed away. She was my last surviving grandparent and she died about 8 months before my wedding, and 18 months before R. was born (R. is named for her). She and my grandfather (Sam, whom S. is named for) were German Jewish immigrants who escaped Nazi Germany at the very last minute in the late 1930s. They struggled to start from scratch when they arrived in New York. Over the years, nothing gave them greater joy later than being grandparents. My sister and I spent lots of time with them especially in our early years (we lived just steps away from each other in Brooklyn) and as a result we developed very close, lasting relationships with them–just as my children do with my own parents now. I miss my grandma every day and love to see how my own R.–smart, stubborn, opinionated and unintentionally witty–shares so many qualities with her Great Grandma Ruth. I wish they had had a chance to meet each other.
This is a 1973 photo of my sister (age 3 1/2) and I (age four months) with our grandparents Ruth and Sam. It is one of my favorite photos of the four of us together.