I was the only one of your ten grandchildren that didn’t have a car, so the Camry went to me. I had just moved to the Bay and started school and I was stubborn about riding my bike everywhere and not needing to drive. But once I had the car, my relationship to California changed. I could go to the mountains and to the river and to the redwoods. You continued to take care of me, even when you were gone. So when the car accident happened and the Camry was totaled and the other driver left without any word, I felt such an immense sense of grief all over again. I cried into my hands on the side of the highway because it felt like you had left for a second time. Before I got into the tow truck, I picked up paint chips and shards of the broken tail lights and put them in my pocket because it felt like that was all I had left of you. (back)