February 2, 1974, one in the morning

 

I cannot sleep again. I try to think about my mother’s birthdays all the time, we celebrated so many together. I also remember the tape recording, but I still don’t have the courage to listen to it. The photographs are familiar to me. She looks at me so sweetly. Will Johanna think of me that way someday?  And Ana of her mother?

 

Hilda Broda

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