We lived in Lincoln, Nebraska, when Rebecca was born. She was the youngest of three daughters, a free spirit.

In Lincoln the hospital was far to the south of the city. We lived on the north side.

When it came time for Rebecca’s birth, we were well prepared, allowing enough time for the long drive south to Lincoln General.

All Diane’s births were fast and easy. Rebecca’s was no exception. Within an hour of arriving at the hospital, a nurse came to me in the waiting room and said: “You have a little girl!” We had chosen her hame already.

“It means peacemaker,” Diane said.

And so she was. When the girls were in their teens, we had weekly family meetings insisted upon by Diane. Sibling or parent conflicts erupted sometimes. Rebecca was always the one to smooth things over in the interest of restoring family peace.

The last to move into their 50s, Rebecca says she has three jobs, running her household and working for the Alzheimer Society.

The third is raising bees. It’s a passion she got from her mother who gave her a book called The Life of Bees just before she died in 2004. So now when she services the hives, she communicates with the spirit of Diane.

She also likes music. She plays guitar with her two children, who have learned to play the fiddle, the trumpet, the mandolin, ukuleles and drums. When I visit there, Rebecca tells the kids (Isabella 14 and Max 11) to get out their instruments.”Grandpa wants to hear you play,” she says.

That I do.

Several years after 2004 when Diane drowned in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Guatemala, Rebecca went to Guatemala to retrace her mother’s last steps. It was a poignant moment for me when she sent a picture with the word “Mom” written in the sand of the beach where Diane drowned.

Rebecca comes to my place sometimes with the kids. We go to Prairie Edge, a fine restaurant in Kildonan Park.

It’s nice to have such a loving daughter, a free spirit that keeps me young.

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