A house on B Street
So it was that last Sunday, we bundled her up in her wheelchair and drove to Long Island, wondering all the time what she was thinking and feeling. The ferry was full (uncharacteristically for March) of second-home owners and their children and dogs. We were the only family with a wheelchair. My aunt maintained her regal bearing throughout the journey. In the house, she directed the packing of certain treasures and wheeled herself to all the rooms on the first floor. We walked up to the beach, wheeling her along, to her favorite place to be when the sun was low in the sky. We took some photographs, trying to smile.
Only on the return ferry did her eyes well and tear for the life well-lived and now out of reach.