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I love that Aunt Roz gave me something else to celebrate, other than what tomorrow's memory always brings. She was aware and deliberately didn't go to the baby's funeral. Everybody is coming to the funeral, Jayne. I know that you will understand, she said to me, in my malaise, It is my birthday. Happy Birthday, Auntie, I said to her. I was in shock and I hardly could think, in my pain. But, through the years, her memory will always be connected with the pain of my heart. I am so grateful for the comfort of the memory of every face that wished me well on that day of my greatest suffering so far. Every face and every hug is emplanted on my comfort place, with hyacinths and beauty. Aunt Roz is on the other side, when my heart goes to the reality of the pain her face not being there is there: a kind of anticomfort, comfort. Something to celebrate, in spite of the pain that is the reality. There will be a new day, she said. You will have more children, though this pain will never be replaced with them. God is good. I am grateful for the mercies of God. For Aunt RaRa Day, I bought rollers and did my hair and Evvy's hair with the old fashioned sponge rollers and we celebrate Aunt RaRa's and her generation's hair fettishes. I love them now, though I will never agree with the priority that they placed on the hair. I do love them and remember them with the stories of my tears of my tussled hair, not being accepted, with fondness. Do your hair, Jayne! This too will pass!
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