On the Edge
Last night, we went to visit someone in our family who is very special to us. She lost her youngest sister, and now she is the only one left. They were five sisters, growing up.
This special person, she has always told us stories about a house full of love and mischief. (Of course there would be mischief with five sisters.)
What must it be like, to stand on the edge of being... to know that you are left to carry on... that you hold the memories of a sisterhood... that you must remember to tell the rest of the stories, before they slip away?
Photograph by Gail Nadeau. Used with permission.
Telling Our Stories