...feeling, now, that the trauma of immigration may have erased the memories i developed prior to the age of six. there are none before canada. i've never said this aloud. there are four or five images.. snapshots.. locations frozen in stiff black and white. and i'm not sure, still, whether the details are real or whether i've dreamt them--filled them in with other people's memories.

...

my mother's cousins passed through recently and told her a family story--a ghetto, an escape in the night, this cousin's father a witness to the deaths. one canadian memory confirmed, now, as real, with a mixture of relief and deep regret. my grandfather told me about this, although it had blurred over time and joined other half-memories. even my father knew--but my mother didn't; or did, once, and willingly forgot..