Here is a true thing: honey bees operate within their species as a collective consciousness. In hives, information passes between ancestor and offspring so that each generation hatches equipped with the intact history of their predecessors. In the span of one hundred and twenty-two days, the honey bee lives, grows old, and dies, but the hive’s memory spans decades.
Here is an untrue thing: I fear the day you do not recognize me. In reality, I fear that I have already abandoned you with my indifference.
Ten years ago, you bested your grandchildren in games of sunka and Scrabble. Seven years ago, you could not remember the name of the street you raised your daughters, my titas, on. Lola, this is my shame: that I have not tried to know you until now, after so much has been lost.
I feel I must write down all I remember. I fear it will not be enough.