In the past two years of the COVID-19 pandemic, loss has been part of the lives of millions. In “How we remember them”, we reflect on how we process that loss and the things – both tangible and intangible – that remind us of those we have lost. It is the Fourth of July and the local park hums with the buzz of adults and children playing with sparklers, whose tales burn a bright red. Kids wave them in circles, figure eights spinning round and round against the night sky. My sister, who is not related to me by blood, carries me on her hip. My body bounces up and down against bone. She has the lithe body of a runner. When we vacation in New Hampshire in the summer, Sue will run the circumference of Beaver Lake returning to the cabin drenched in sweat.During at least one of these vacations, Sue will take a feminist stance against societal norms and declare to all four of us, “I am not shaving my armpit hair to please men.” My embarrassment by her decision will pale in comparison to Sue’s empowerment. When we float among the lily pads, after a morning of feeding the ducks, who attempt to nudge each other out of the way in a frenzy, Sue’s arms hang like wet noodles behind the plastic tube she sits in. Her pit hair is visible. I wish she would shave. I imagine it fanning out in the water and attacking me like a carnivorous sea creature.
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