Her name was Yolande

Recently my mom answered the door and found my cousin, whom she had not seen in years (he's from my dad's side and my parents divorced in 1990). She was struck by how tall and handsome he looked, a real man. Exactly like his father, who tragically and unfairly died in his fifties when both my cousin and I were 23.

He wanted to know if my mother could talk to him about his a little. They used to be sisters-in-law, were almost the same age and quite close (as hinted by my last sentence, being pregnant at the same time especially made them bond). He has never met her. She died at 29, while giving birth to him. His father eventually remarried, and his new wife was who we considered our aunt, although my cousin's relationship with her was always a bit complicated (according to my mom she never fully accepted him, which I find immensely sad.) Growing up, they never talked much about his mother, there weren't many pictures or memories. "When my dad was here, I wasn't really interested in having him talk to me about her, I wasn't at the right point in my life yet. But now, he's gone and there's no one who could tell me how my mom was." He was crying. My mom tried her best, telling him how much his mother had desired him and blissfully waited for him to arrive.

The night she died, my dad woke up sweating, panicked, repeating to my mom that his sister was in danger and needed him. My aunt and uncle had recently moved to a remote village and even though my parents knew her due date was near they hadn't heard from them. My father was quite distressed, unable to go back to sleep. They learned of her sudden death the next morning.

When LP was four months old while on vacation we passed by this area neither of us knew. My mom had been to the funeral and I remembered what she told me as a child, about the name of the village where she lay, and even the location of her resting place and the peculiarity of her tombstone, which had a carved cat on it (my uncle used to call her "mon petit chat"). We stopped by, and we found it immediately. It's a beautiful place, very peaceful, and she's right near the water, overlooking a quite spectacular view. My uncle is not besides her; I guess in hindsight he spent many more years with his second wife than with my aunt, and she chose to have him rest near where she lives.

We went back to the car where I nursed LP, quite teary, thinking about my cousin who has always struggled so much about growing up without a mother. I was also thinking about her, who would forever remain younger than I was at this point. Right when we got back on the road, we realized that we had dropped LP's pacifier at the cemetery. I told M: "It's OK. It's in good hands. Just a little token to show that we were here."