In April, I gave the first gift from the trust.
Not after my death. Now. While I can watch it work.
With Mr. Fisk’s help, and Thomas checking every number, I wrote a check for twenty-five thousand dollars to the ovarian cancer program at the university that took over Evelyn’s lab. It’s for a screening clinic for high-risk women who can’t afford it. Women like my sister Ruth, who was a waitress with three children and no health insurance, and who ignored her swollen stomach for a year because she couldn’t pay a doctor.Support Causes
They asked what I wanted the clinic called.
I thought about it for a long time.
I told them they could call it whatever they wanted. But the screening program inside it should still be called Project Margaret.
And in May, I went to Ireland.
Robert and I talked about it for fifty years. His grandmother came from a village in County Clare called Kilfenora. We had a jar on the kitchen counter, a big one, labeled IRELAND in his handwriting. We put loose change in it for decades. It never got full. Something always came up. A transmission. A roof. Braces for Claire.
