Lola wasn"t verbose. She spoke when she needed to. I supposed it was all those years of solitude; not necessarily physical solitude, but emotional loneliness because she was indeed alone in the world. Despite her frequent silence, and absence, she was warm – just her presence was comforting. The touch of her hand told you not to worry, and her smile reassured you that everything would be alright. She was warm and caring, gentle and grandmotherly.
There was much going on around us – the whispered promise of change wove itself into the bullying threat of war, which nestled unwanted beside all the things I was discovering about these people who were lost to their families, their lives and themselves. The lost lives of all these people somehow eclipsed worldly events and I was drawn into thei
