The very first words of my novel Odessa are my grandmother Lynn’s. Her Yahrzeit is approaching, the first anniversary of her death. It’s a strange Spring. Memories of her are layering over the days leading up to the novel’s publication, and they are so strongly woven together that excitement and grief have become inextricable. In my grandmother’s final months, during her moments of lucidity, I would remind her about the book (and her face would light up with pride, the news new and wonderful every time) and I would ask her again about Golda. Lynn’s quote, which opens Odessa , are some of the last words she said to me about her grandmother, who was the inspiration for this book. Article continues after advertisement I have inherited, along with her stories, the photograph of my great-great-grandmother Golda on her journey to America in the beginning of the 20th century. The photograph now hangs on my wall beside the book cover.…