ABSTRACT
The death of my grandmother in 1988 served to reunite physically and emotionally all her living children, grandchildren, some of her greatgrandchildren, and a host of other biological and fictive kin. My 9-year-old daughter who was trying to adjust to our recent move from Colorado to Wisconsin was nearly overwhelmed by the trauma of her greatgrandmother’s death. Since she seemed to be unable to “hear” what I was trying to say to her about these critical moments in her young life, it became apparent that a need existed for someone else to step in to provide a listening ear as well as the wisdom so necessary for her support as she attempted (successfully) to navigate through these crises.
