Dear Charlotte

Dear Charlotte

Dear Charlotte 1920 2560 Dux Communications


In loving memory of Charlotte Borowsky Keil, 1923 – 2023


I think we all live on in the people who love us… the people we touch in such a way.  There’s no end.

I imagine a delicate— cascading web of shared experiences that grows and grows over time high above— through the generations.
Within families. Among friends and lovers.

Charlotte, my grandmother, understood that more than most.

Birthdays, graduations. Weddings. A handwritten card. Perfect penmanship. She never forgot. She never forgot. She remembered the tiniest of details. She wrote it down in her book. She kept it on file.

She remembered for US.
She was a consistent reminder that we should stop to celebrate and appreciate LIFE.

Take in that purple and pink birthday card, dressed in flowers and a little sparkle because that day was our day.

Charlotte loved pink. A girly girl through and through. A classy lady with impeccable taste. Matching freshly pressed pantsuits, a flawless perm… colorful scarf and jewels. She was immaculate and certainly expected that of us.

I fear my shoes— at one time or another— were too high… and a skirt too short when I was an adolescent. I smirked. She cared.

She cared for us deeply and honored us with her knowledge— and experience… The mementos she would keep in tiny plastic bags and rubber bands. In her handbag. In her dresser drawer. Photos. Newspaper clippings. Print-outs.

She believed deeply in dignity truth —TRUST—- and what is right. In our community…

For families.
For people
For women.
For cancer survivors… Like us.

An avid reader and eager learner — she read and read and read and LISTENED.

Complicated and layered in thought yet simple in routine. Charlotte knew what she wanted and what she liked. She rarely spoke of pain. She persevered. “Never mind that,” she’d routinely say.

She would quietly take us in— our lives— and make them a part of her heart. Her world. Her chatter with friends. Her stories… or should I say lengthy reports. They always made me smile. I couldn’t keep up.

She would lose me at her sister’s mothers’ daughter — “No, not the one with two kids. The one, just married— who lives in Philadelphia.”

She cared.

She cared for people.  Fiercely loyal— unapologetically herself. Her opinions came. Sometimes piercing, but they were built with purpose and shared with reason. I loved that.


A quiet toughness.  A fire within that you might almost miss because of her soft and pleasant exterior.
A lovely lady —with Chanel lipstick always in tow.


A lifetime of love— and memories.

A wife.
A mother.
A grandmother.
A great-grandmother.

She would hold your hand and the world would simply— slow down


All 100 years.



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