In the final days of her life, my maternal grandmother, Madeleine Weishoff Van de Walker, often could not recall what she had for breakfast, but she could randomly unearth in vivid detail such memories as waving goodbye to her mother and multiple siblings in Luxembourg and boarding a ship to the United States. For a moment, that minute speck of time in the vast space of her long life was as familiar to her as the cold tile floor in the rest home where she had lived out her remaining days.
With her guttural r’s and intense v’s—even after 70 years as an American citizen—she told the stories of her early years in America and her love of her adopted country to whomever would listen.
