malorie kerouac

My Yiayia passed away on the first of the month, with the brusqueness and efficiency that only this woman could find in death.

On my most recent visit with her, I found myself prying into her life, sensing that I had limited time to get to know who she was.

Her parents being immigrants from Cyprus has always been at the core of our family identity. And while she took great pride in her Greekness, she would never be described as particularly forthcoming with sentimentality for the past.

Over the last few years, I was lucky enough to have work bring me to New England regularly, and I was able to spend more time with her. We shared book recommendations, and discussed the state of the world. The last book she left sitting on her table, to be left unfinished, was titled 'Regime Change: Inside the Imperial Presidency of Donald Trump.'

I came to see how passionate she was about what she felt was right, politically, environmentally, and to no-one's surprise, in the kitchen.

In one of these conversations, regarding the overwhelming experience of learning a new language, we were able to speak more about her parents, and their journey through Ellis Island and their early life in Queens.

Seeing these photos, I have a particular lens through which i see them, having photographed so many weddings of children of immigrants. I know for certain that they must have been glowing with pride. It's rarely nothing short of a dream for them, being able to throw a party for friends and family, to give away their beautiful, and strong, Greek-American daughter.

I'm not allowing myself to miss her yet, as she is still right there, in her big chair, right where we left her. But I know that soon, the missing will settle in. How will we continue to be pridefully Greek without you, our Queen?