Following the cobblestone walkway to her front door on Cape Cod, I am marveling at the fact that at ninety years old she is still living on her own.  I am about to ring the doorbell when she pulls the door open and stands before me, small but steady on her feet. Her eyes show joy at my arrival, and I bend slightly to embrace her. After so many years of absence, I have found my way back to this grandmother who loves me.

This is becoming familiar, a pattern, this reconnection every few years. This time I vow to stay in touch better. She is all I have left from that before life, and she is always waiting for me to come back, my mother’s mother. We are connected not only through blood, but through terrible loss. In the before life she was my loving grandmother, providing stability and…