“Tell me about your family," I said. And so she did. I listened intently as my mother went through each branch of the tree. Years later, after the funeral, Maria had asked me questions about the family - who was related to whom - and I struggled. I couldn't remember. A big chunk of our history had been buried with my mother. You should never let your past disappear that way.”

“Mothers support certain illusions about their children, and one of my illusions was that I liked who I was, because she did. When she passed away, so did that idea.”

“Eddie looked again at the graveside gathering. He wondered if he'd had a funeral. He wondered if anyone came. He saw the priest reading from the bible and the mourners lowering their heads. This was the day the Blue Man had been buried, all those years ago. Eddie had been there, a little boy, fidgeting through the ceremony, with no idea of the role he'd played in it."I still don't understand," Eddie whispered. "What good came from your death?""You lived," the Blue Man answered."But we barely knew each other. I might as well have been a stranger."The Blue Man put his arms on Eddie's shoulders. Eddie felt that warm, melting sensation."Strangers," the Blue Man said, "are just family you have yet to come to know.”

“Why do you want to die?'I shivered. For a second I couldn't breathe.'You knew...?'She gave a sad smile.'I'm your mother.”

“but then she did. she died. no more visits, no more phone calls. And without even realizing it, I began to drift, as if my roots had been pulled, as if I were floating down some side branch of a river.”

“A little girl came home from school with a drawing she'd made in class.She danced into the kitchen ,where her mother was preparing dinner."Mom,guess what ?" she squealed waving the drawing .her mother never looked up."what"? she said ,tending to the pots."guess what?" the child repeated ,waving the drawings."what?" the mother said , tending to the plates."Mom, you're not listening""sweetie,yes I am""Mom" the child said "you're not listening with your EYES”

“The problem, Mitch, is that we don't believe we are as much alike as we are. Whites and blacks, Catholics and Protestants, men and women. If we saw each other as more alike, we might be very eager to join in one big human family in this world, and to care about that family the way we care about our own.But believe me, when you are dying, you see it is true. We all have the same beginning - birth - and we all have the same end - death. So how different can we be?Invest in the human family. Invest in people. Build a little community of those you love and who love you.”