When my father died, I was holding his hand. I could feel the Marine Corps ring that he always wore on the third finger of his right hand. The ring has a large ruby, set in gold with globes of the world etched on both sides. Two eagles — wings spread — are perched on each globe. Because the ring is worn, stars that circle the eagles and globes have almost disappeared.
Tag: aging parent
As writer Martha Frankel narrated family photos for her partially blind mother, she saw more through her mom’s eyes.
In every family photo taken of me before I’m 15, someone is holding my arms behind my back, as if I might bolt, as if I might float off into the ether if they weren’t tethering me to the earth. Usually it was my mother, but in a few of the photos it was my sister Helene, and in one, my father.