As I look around at my family, mourning the loss of my Memere, I grab the basket my mom hands to me. As I walk down the aisle, I hand each family member a rock with one simple word on it, hope. Hope: A feeling of expectation and desire. An ordinary rock that has so much meaning. When my Memere was alive, her favorite thing in the world was the world. Her hope of Seeing beauty in every place she could. She traveled the world in hopes to get a glimpse of it all. She would recite stories of her travels when we spent time together, telling us about each place as if it were the most beautiful place on Earth. I was very young at the time, so I don’t remember specifics about the stories but I keep her with me with the rocks. We find each rock in different places, and rocks of all shapes, sizes and colors. When we write the word hope on them, they change from regular rocks to special and meaningful rocks. We have hope rocks hidden in many places like Mexico, the Cayman Islands, Italy, Canada, and many many more. Some are in plain sight, and others are hidden in small cracks. This is the way we choose to celebrate her and embrace her with us always.

– Megan Gamache

Relationship:  Grandchild of im/migrant Grandchild of im/migrant