Vienna, October 25, 1998

 

We looked at the book together yesterday and I asked Omama something about Kurt. I constantly forget more things, she answered. But, you know, I feel better since I remember less. We looked over all the pages and sometimes she remembers, sometimes not. Everyday she asks me where I live, In Mexico, I answer. And who’s idea was it to go to Mexico? she asks. But when she looks at the albums of her youth she remembers every one of her friends and tells me what happened to them.

 

Vienna, October 30, 1998

 

I go back to Mexico tomorrow. I made an album this afternoon for Omama with photographs and texts. I spent hours thinking of how to arrange the stories to fill in the gaps of her memory. I recalled the albums she made over so many years. It’s apparent that she made some when she took the pictures and others were assembled later, different ways of telling the same story. When my grandfather turned seventy, she put together three small red scrapbooks with photographs that summarized their life together.


Suddenly I realize that this book is like one of her albums.

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