The tragedy of the final years of my paternal grandmother's life is not a story I want to tell, regardless of how much I loved her. When I remember my childhood, I recall her as a warm, comforting presence. I can feel her hands on my back, tickling and rubbing circles affectionately. I can feel the hands that painted masterpieces, that stitched a hundred quilts, that soothed a thousand hurts. I remember days spent curled on her lap with a...

Someone you admire and why

The tragedy of the final years of my paternal grandmother's life is not a story I want to tell, regardless of how much I loved her. When I remember my childhood, I recall her as a warm, comforting presence. I can feel her hands on my back, tickling and rubbing circles affectionately. I can feel the hands that painted masterpieces, that stitched a hundred quilts, that soothed a thousand hurts. I remember days spent curled on her lap with a...

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