I write mostly to make sense of life. And tonight is no different.
A few days ago, my wonderful sister and I were talking, as we so often do, about our mother. My sister was struggling with the fact that my mother was never able to experience being a grandparent and that her children didn’t get to have her in their lives. I disagree with this last part. I think having us in their lives means their grandmother is there. Every day.
From our Mom, we learned so very much. Love. Compassion. Empathy. Silliness. We also learned a particular role model for loss, the model where you move through it and keep on going. For some, this is easier than for others.
Recently, in a truly wonderful revelation, I noticed how much our sweet Henry resembles his great grandmother, Rachel, my mother. A side by side comparison of baby photos reveals the same beautiful dark, deep, almost almond-shaped eyes. His sweet demeanor. His open innocence. Once again, I have the gift of looking at my mother through my offspring.
Tonight we are at a lake with two of our three children and our grandsons. As I often do, I watch in awe my children as adults, loving on this next generation, putting their children’s and nephews’ needs ahead of their own, understanding that this role is big! Embracing it and walking the unknown path with both boldness and innocence.
It’s not perfect. It’s not always pretty. It I sometimes involves pee EVERYwhere. But this life is beautiful. Like them. Like their children. Like my mother, living on with each generation.
Nancy Wiley writes. 