There were valid reasons, of course, for Guion to wish that Mom-Mom's relationship with my father had been called off. The rift. There was great tension in the connection between my father and his family, largely because my father's mother had lost him to Mom-Mom. She as more his mother than his real mother was. That was where his allegiance was to and through the day they each died. Given that situation, it surprises Guy that it has turned out that my father is the most social of all three of them, the one most inclined to communicate in any way with the other ones.

Towards the end of her life, their mother found out that she had colon cancer and would only have six months to live. She told Eugene and Guion, maybe Ken, too, but he was lost to her at that point. He had been lost to her for a very, very long time. She did not want to recall her sons, as it were, to try to draw them to her and get them to take care of her. That was not her desire. She respected that they had their own lives and things. She quietly put her affairs in order. At a certain point she realized that she would need to move into the hospital. So she gathered her things. Guion spoke with undisguised astonishment at how intense a thing it must be to look around at your home, understanding that you will never see it again, and pack a small assortment of things, understanding that these will be the only things of your own you will get to have near you when you die. He told me that after she died, he was going through those belongings, packing them up and examining them and one of the most notable items among them was a correspondence between my father and herself. She was trying to repair the damage between them. But it really hadn't happened. The impression that I get is that it didn't happen because of my father. The impression that I get is that he disapproves.

He searched for the year of their mother's death. "1978," I supplied, pleased that I could be the one that knew something in particular. I was born on the one-year anniversary of their mother's death. That was how I knew. I wanted to tell him that, but he was already continuing to explain that their mother wrote my father out of the will. A decision that Guion also disapproves of. He thinks that it just made the situation worse in the end. I mean, she was dead at that point, so in a certain way, the situation for her was going to be whatever it was going to be at the time when she died. But I understood what he meant. In terms of last acts, writing your child out of your will is not likely to create a situation where the relationship will ever be resolved, even for the person still living. And as long as there is one person still living, there is a relationship there. And if that one person on their own, after the death of the other can resolve the situation for themselves, than to some degree or another, that *is* a significant measure of resolution for the relationship entire. And that just never had the chance to happen. There was no comfortable closure for either of them. Guy wishes that it had been another way. I suppose I do, too.

All I really knew about the situation—from my father—is that the last interaction between himself and his mother was a fight. I was glad to have more information on it. A different perspective. Some cause and effect. I was glad to be able to make these people a little more real. I think that the more of my father's family I meet, the less cartoonish they will be to me. I think I would kind of like to meet his sons, my cousins, though I doubt that it will ever happen. And I doubt that I would like them. When I asked Linda and Guion what they're doing, now, they said in (I swear) unison, "Nothing." Just like that. And that was the end of that conversation. It would just be nice to make them real. To fix them in my head as actual people and not just characters in some made-up story.

Guion says over and over that I should meet Eugene. That he's very Californian. That if California should suffer an earthquake and float off into the ocean, he'd be certain to be on it. I laughed and said that I would, too. That California is aching to break away from the rest of the country. We're just waiting for that earthquake. Eugene is somewhere in Southern California. I never had the desire to go searching for him until I spent an evening with Guion. And now I want to know. I want to put the puzzle together. I want to see what he looks like, his mannerisms, find out what his voice sounds like, what he remembers of growing up, what he's been doing in the time since then, what he thinks about the fact that none of the Blufords are close with each other.

I want to meet this aunt that I'm told lives in Kansas City, the last person from my father's parents' generation who is still alive. She was the editor (in chief?) of a Black newspaper in Kansas City until relatively recently. She had a stroke and was paralyzed on one side and was still running the paper. Guion called her at one point and asked if she was still running the paper and she said, "No." Guion said that was a bad sign. I wondered to myself how bad a sign it was. Would it be worth it to try to go visit her out in Kansas City and to tell her I'm your great-niece. I'm your brother's granddaughter.

As the conversation was coming to a close, I told them that if they ever come through town again, they should call and if I'm ever in Cleveland, I'll look them up. And if they move, if I ever pass through where they move to, I'll stop in and say hello. They laughed. Guion in particular. I think they were laughing at the notion that I would ever come to Cleveland, which I defended. I mean, I'm pretty sure I had gone through Cleveland just a year or two ago on my way to Toledo for Jason's wedding. It could happen again. But I felt just a little bit unsettled by it, just the same. It made me question whether or not I would ever see these people again. I was afraid I never would. I mean, the thought that I might never see them again, brought me a slight bit of fear and sadness. I wouldn't have guessed how much I would like to know these people, to understand them as family.

At some point, maybe three-quarters of the way through the dinner, Guion looks at Linda (my Aunt Linda, I suppose) and says to her with a certain amount of humor, "So, what do you think? Is she my niece?" And she smiled and said yes, in a voice of a judge handing out some sort of verdict. It seemed like a very peculiar question, humor or no humor. Like I had just been tested, somehow, and been found a Bluford. Peculiar or not, I was glad that I passed. That they had decided that I was his niece. That they had not disowned me, as they had disowned their sons (although that is still hearsay, given that it came from my father and not from the mouth of the disowner or the disowned, but still, my father's word is good enough for me). I had made it. I was family, for whatever that's worth when you're a Bluford.

As we walked out of the restaurant on our way to the word goodbye, they mentioned that I'm pretty much the only girl in the Bluford line. That their father had had one sister, but mostly brothers. He had three sons (my father and uncles) and he, himself, had had two boys. And I was the one girl. Mom-Mom had always told me that my father's father would have been very pleased at my birth. At my female-ishness. Maybe it was true. The Blufords do seem to have some strong male-oriented sperm going on. They told me that actually it was probably a good thing, because the epilepsy their father had was transmitted from mother to son. If he had had any girls, they or their boys would have probably been epileptic. Given that he had no girl children, the epilepsy stops with him. All of us are safe.

Afterwards, when we parted with hugs and take cares, I was elated. Delighted by the whole grand event of it. And, though my anti-social nature was validated on a number of levels, I felt more curious about my family than ever before. I wanted to root out these hidden relatives. I wanted to call my mother, to write to my father. And I did. I sent an e-card to my father. It's a step! As for my mother, I haven't spoken to her since I left on the plane in New York on December 29th. On very conscious purpose. But all that talking about the regret of not resolving your relationships with parents before they died got me thinking. Feeling regretful. And besides, I knew she would be terrifically excited to hear that I had just had dinner with Guion Bluford. But, of course, I called my girlfriend first. Because we Blufords are extremely attached to our wives.