The thing my mother remembered most about growing up, particularly during the months leading up to her parents’ death, was being surrounded by relatives. They were always so many of them in her house. Every morning, when she came downstairs for breakfast, she found her mother drinking coffee with at least two other women. And by the time her father finished eating, one or two more visitors had arrived, uncles who walked with him to work.
She and Abbey went to a different school than Harry, who always left earlier than them, usually with two boys who lived next door. My mother ate breakfast quickly, sometimes as much as two pieces of toast, two eggs, cottage cheese and fruit, but Abbey took a lot longer, and always managed to eat only a half a piece of toast and drink only a few sips of mi
