Rebe Huntman

The Mothers, a memoir-in-progress

On the occasion of the 30th anniversary of my mother’s death, I find myself longing to reconnect not only to my own mother but to the very idea of mother. Not just at home but in Cuba where the maternal presence I long for takes the shape of Our Lady of Charity, patron saint and mother to an entire island.

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Excerpts from The Mothers

I. 1974. Puerto Angel, Oaxaca

I’m ten years old when my parents and I vacation at a small fishing village in Mexico. My mother and I dig for seashells, pose in ankle deep water while my father takes our picture. “Lift your chin a little,” he says. “Turn your face to the left.”

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