Lucas walked today. He has been trying to walk for a few weeks, gaining balance and confidence bit by bit. For the past week or so, he has grabbed onto our fingers at every opportunity so he could walk back and forth, back and forth, wherever he wanted to go. Suddenly this morning I was standing in the kitchen cleaning up from breakfast and Luke came walking slowly across the dining room, a huge grin of pride on his face, and collapsed into my arms in laughter.
What a shining moment in his little life – and I am so glad that he was here with me, to be applauded with love and pride for his accomplishment.
Caring for two babies is no small chore for an almost-sixty grandmother. Often by the end of the day I am bone-tired and frazzled. My hair is tangled, my make-up long worn off, and my clothing spotted with the remnants of breakfast and lunch. There are days when both babies are cheerful and contented, eating well, napping on “schedule” and playing together peacefully. But there are also the other days – the days of whining and tears, interrupted naps, pushing and hair-pulling, and the constant need for Grandma’s loving arms and lap.
But, I share a bond with Luke and Alivia that is more valuable than anything else I could be doing at this point in my life. I am providing love, affection, security, and guidance, and I am receiving the most precious hugs and kisses in return. Today we shared an incredibly beautiful April afternoon – picking flowers, watching the birds, taking a walk. It was idyllic. They bask in the unconditional love of their grandmother, and I hold their chubby little hands, kiss their precious faces, and marvel at the perfection of these children of my children.
Lucas walked today, and I was there to share in his exuberant joy. He wasn’t in day care – one of many other little ones whose milestones are noted by strangers. He was here with his grandmother – and he felt like his accomplishment was the most important thing in the world – which it was to me!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Garden Blessings
I sit on the back porch in my comfortable old wicker chair, my mug of freshly brewed coffee at hand, and listen to the early morning concert of birdsong. The past few weeks have gone by in a blur -- too much work and too little time for these quiet moments of introspection which are so essential to my emotional well-being. April has passed quickly, and my lovely garden has gone from tiny sprouts dotting the brown soil to a landscape of tender green plants, with colorful patches of spring flowers. The trees are a froth of tiny leaves, which will soon provide a soothing canopy of shade.
I feel closest to God in my garden. This miracle of rebirth each April is a tremendous reassurance of our own immortality. There are numerous lessons to be learned in the garden. Patience was never one of my virtues. However, years of tending tiny new perennials and waiting for them to reach maturity -- holding my breath each spring to see if the purple lilac bush will finally flower, or if the roses will cover the new fence with profuse blooms -- have demanded a patience that now serves me well. There are also lessons of loss. Gardens evolve over time -- a sunny plot becomes shaded by growing trees. Much-loved plants die off, and are often replaced with new surprises carried into the garden on gentle breezes, or by our feathered friends. Yesterday I discovered three rosebushes along the fence that didn't make it through our long winter. I had planted several roses there three years ago, fed them, watered them, pruned them, loved them -- and now these three are gone. Today I will transplant some from another area which has become too shady. But, it will be sad to pull the withered brown stems from the earth -- their lushness now only a memory.
Our gardens are continually at the mercy of the forces of nature. A lovely summer day can suddenly erupt into a hailstorm which destroys acres of crops. A gust of wind can topple the tallest tree, and the landscape is forever altered. A gentle summer rain can nourish a drought-parched garden and save its precious bounty for the season.
The lessons of a garden are often hard-earned, but they are a metaphor of life. We gardeners quickly become aware of how little control we have over our own destiny. Our lives are in God's hands as surely as the flowers in the garden. We are free to dream our dreams and make our choices, and yet God's plan for us is often very different, and our lives can sometimes abruptly take an unwelcome path. We must have faith that we will survive the losses, disappointments and darkness in our lives and know that ultimately the sun will shine on us again and our hearts will lighten. After the cold dark winter, God blesses us with sunshine, flowers, gentle spring breezes and the sweet songs of the birds. There is always hope in the garden.
I feel closest to God in my garden. This miracle of rebirth each April is a tremendous reassurance of our own immortality. There are numerous lessons to be learned in the garden. Patience was never one of my virtues. However, years of tending tiny new perennials and waiting for them to reach maturity -- holding my breath each spring to see if the purple lilac bush will finally flower, or if the roses will cover the new fence with profuse blooms -- have demanded a patience that now serves me well. There are also lessons of loss. Gardens evolve over time -- a sunny plot becomes shaded by growing trees. Much-loved plants die off, and are often replaced with new surprises carried into the garden on gentle breezes, or by our feathered friends. Yesterday I discovered three rosebushes along the fence that didn't make it through our long winter. I had planted several roses there three years ago, fed them, watered them, pruned them, loved them -- and now these three are gone. Today I will transplant some from another area which has become too shady. But, it will be sad to pull the withered brown stems from the earth -- their lushness now only a memory.
Our gardens are continually at the mercy of the forces of nature. A lovely summer day can suddenly erupt into a hailstorm which destroys acres of crops. A gust of wind can topple the tallest tree, and the landscape is forever altered. A gentle summer rain can nourish a drought-parched garden and save its precious bounty for the season.
The lessons of a garden are often hard-earned, but they are a metaphor of life. We gardeners quickly become aware of how little control we have over our own destiny. Our lives are in God's hands as surely as the flowers in the garden. We are free to dream our dreams and make our choices, and yet God's plan for us is often very different, and our lives can sometimes abruptly take an unwelcome path. We must have faith that we will survive the losses, disappointments and darkness in our lives and know that ultimately the sun will shine on us again and our hearts will lighten. After the cold dark winter, God blesses us with sunshine, flowers, gentle spring breezes and the sweet songs of the birds. There is always hope in the garden.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Happy Birthday Kristin Jennifer
My first baby was born thirty-five years ago today -- she never breathed her first gulp of air or emptied her lungs with a gusty cry. She was stillborn two months early. In those days, there were no ultrasounds to warn us that something was terribly wrong. By the time we realized there were serious issues, I had already begun my labor, and she was born quickly in the middle of the night. I was given anesthesia, and never allowed to see her or hold her -- in those days they didn't know how much a mother needed those final moments to touch and love the baby she had carried in her body and heart for all those months.
From the perspective of years and wisdom, I realize that with the severe mental and physical disabilities she had, it was probably a blessing that she didn't live. The doctor told me she was "imcompatible with life", and I have assured myself over the years that she is better off with God. On her birthday, though, I can't help but mourn what she could have been -- wondering what color her hair was, and her eyes, and thinking that if she had been healthy, she would probably have been a mother herself by now.
I will close with deep love, and wishes for a wonderful birthday in Heaven today, and with a poem that has touched my heart and perfectly describes the anguish of all mothers who hold these precious lost babies in our hearts forever.
the ones we never speak of --
miscarried, unborn,
removed by decree,
taken too soon, crossed over.
They slip red mittens in our hands,
smell of warm wet wool,
are always out of sight.
We glimpse them on escalators,
over the shoulders of dark-haired women,
they return to us in dreams.
We hold them, as they evanesce;
we never speak their names.
How many children do you have?
Two, we answer, thinking three,
or three, we answer, thinking four;
they are always with us.
The lost children
come to us
at night
and whisper
in the shells
of our ears.
They are waving goodbye
on schoolbuses,
they are separated from us
in stadiums,
they are lost in shopping malls
with unspeakable pools,
they disappear on beaches,
they shine at night in the stars.
By Barbara Crooker, from Motherhood: Journey Into Love
From the perspective of years and wisdom, I realize that with the severe mental and physical disabilities she had, it was probably a blessing that she didn't live. The doctor told me she was "imcompatible with life", and I have assured myself over the years that she is better off with God. On her birthday, though, I can't help but mourn what she could have been -- wondering what color her hair was, and her eyes, and thinking that if she had been healthy, she would probably have been a mother herself by now.
I will close with deep love, and wishes for a wonderful birthday in Heaven today, and with a poem that has touched my heart and perfectly describes the anguish of all mothers who hold these precious lost babies in our hearts forever.
The Lost Children
the ones we never speak of --
miscarried, unborn,
removed by decree,
taken too soon, crossed over.
They slip red mittens in our hands,
smell of warm wet wool,
are always out of sight.
We glimpse them on escalators,
over the shoulders of dark-haired women,
they return to us in dreams.
We hold them, as they evanesce;
we never speak their names.
How many children do you have?
Two, we answer, thinking three,
or three, we answer, thinking four;
they are always with us.
The lost children
come to us
at night
and whisper
in the shells
of our ears.
They are waving goodbye
on schoolbuses,
they are separated from us
in stadiums,
they are lost in shopping malls
with unspeakable pools,
they disappear on beaches,
they shine at night in the stars.
By Barbara Crooker, from Motherhood: Journey Into Love
Monday, March 9, 2009
The Birthday Celebration
As I click onto my blog tonight I realize that I haven’t written since January. I have noticed in life that I am moved to write when I am happy or angry or reflective, but I have seldom written during periods of true sadness. This winter has been a long and worrisome season. There have been health worries, serious financial worries, and a general feeling of anxiety, fatigue and overwhelming stress.
Tonight, though, I am writing in sadness. Tomorrow is my mother’s birthday – March 10 – and it brings with it memories of the woman who was my source of unconditional love and the model I emulated throughout my own motherhood journey. Each year on her birthday I think of her and miss her. As I raised my own children, I was disappointed that she was not the attentive grandmother I had envisioned, and she and I did not spend as much time together as I would have liked, but once my children were older, each year on her birthday we would plan a special outing for the two of us. Some years we strolled the streets of Saratoga and ate lunch at Professor Moriarty’s. Other years we visited Stockbridge and Great Barrington and had lunch at some special little restaurant. We had tea in a Ballston Spa shop one year and lunch by the fire at a cozy apple orchard.
My mother died in 2001, and my sister and I, who had never been close, comforted each other and developed a strong and loving friendship. We continued the birthday tradition. Each year, as close to March 10 as possible, we celebrated my mother’s birthday together. Usually we carried on the tradition of lunch in Saratoga or Stockbridge. Some years time was limited and we would enjoy a local lunch together and toast our mother with a glass of good wine. And, we celebrated our relationship.
Little did I know that last year would be our final luncheon celebration. This year my sister is dying of cancer. Later this week, I will sit with her in her living room at lunchtime and we can reminisce a bit as she picks at her food, and we will remember those happier times – but my heart is not in it – my heart is broken.
Tonight, though, I am writing in sadness. Tomorrow is my mother’s birthday – March 10 – and it brings with it memories of the woman who was my source of unconditional love and the model I emulated throughout my own motherhood journey. Each year on her birthday I think of her and miss her. As I raised my own children, I was disappointed that she was not the attentive grandmother I had envisioned, and she and I did not spend as much time together as I would have liked, but once my children were older, each year on her birthday we would plan a special outing for the two of us. Some years we strolled the streets of Saratoga and ate lunch at Professor Moriarty’s. Other years we visited Stockbridge and Great Barrington and had lunch at some special little restaurant. We had tea in a Ballston Spa shop one year and lunch by the fire at a cozy apple orchard.
My mother died in 2001, and my sister and I, who had never been close, comforted each other and developed a strong and loving friendship. We continued the birthday tradition. Each year, as close to March 10 as possible, we celebrated my mother’s birthday together. Usually we carried on the tradition of lunch in Saratoga or Stockbridge. Some years time was limited and we would enjoy a local lunch together and toast our mother with a glass of good wine. And, we celebrated our relationship.
Little did I know that last year would be our final luncheon celebration. This year my sister is dying of cancer. Later this week, I will sit with her in her living room at lunchtime and we can reminisce a bit as she picks at her food, and we will remember those happier times – but my heart is not in it – my heart is broken.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Our Mothers' Voices
Saturday afternoon I went to an Estate Sale – a favorite pastime of mine – and bought a lovely old tablecloth and napkins. As I smoothed out the soft, worn cotton and refolded it to put it away, I thought, “Wait until Mom sees these napkins at our next family dinner.” The “Mom” I was referring to is my mother-in-law, who, unfortunately, has suffered a tremendous physical and mental decline from Parkinson’s Disease and Alzheimer’s. She will never again gaze with pleasure at one of my pretty table settings. Generally now, she is begging to go home before dinner is even cooked.
For over thirty years, though, we celebrated holidays and family birthdays together, and she taught me many of the fine points of entertaining and setting a beautiful table. And now, it saddens me that she is no longer able to give encouragement and approval to the efforts her daughter and I make to create warmth and atmosphere for these special occasions. Every time I prepare a special meal and set the table with my lovely china, I think of her.
And, of course, these thoughts led to deeper reflection. Little girls are influenced from their earliest years by the special women in their lives – mothers, grandmothers, aunts – and their voices linger in our heads long after their physical presence is gone. If we are fortunate, these voices are uplifting and give us strength.
My grandmother lovingly taught me “ladylike” behavior for a girl of the 1950’s. She taught me how to cook one winter when my mother was bedridden with back problems. She shared her superstitions, which haunt me to this day. Somehow she always made this tall, awkward little girl feel beautiful and loved.
My mother, by example, showed me how to be a loving, compassionate person and to mother with unconditional love. She shared her wisdom and knowledge, and enveloped me in gentleness, kindness and security. She taught me to love books and to cherish my individuality. She gave me the courage to follow my own path in life and to savor the astounding beauty to be found in quiet moments.
My aunt loved me so thoroughly that I considered her my “second” mother. I loved sleeping over at her house with my cousins and feeling so totally at home.
My great-aunt inspired my love of cooking and baking and creating a warm and welcoming home. She was a small-town schoolteacher, but in my eyes she was the epitome of social grace. I still have her old recipe cards with her handwriting in faded ink, which always remind me of the delicious aromas of baking which filled her home.
Being the nervous and anxious person that I am, I will always remember my Godmother telling me near the end of her life, how she realized that ultimately most of the things she worried so much about through her lifetime never came to pass. I try to remind myself of this as I worry and fret.
And so, this blog is dedicated to all women who give their best to the people they love, but especially to these women whose love and caring follow me through each day, and whose voices will forever remain in my heart.
For over thirty years, though, we celebrated holidays and family birthdays together, and she taught me many of the fine points of entertaining and setting a beautiful table. And now, it saddens me that she is no longer able to give encouragement and approval to the efforts her daughter and I make to create warmth and atmosphere for these special occasions. Every time I prepare a special meal and set the table with my lovely china, I think of her.
And, of course, these thoughts led to deeper reflection. Little girls are influenced from their earliest years by the special women in their lives – mothers, grandmothers, aunts – and their voices linger in our heads long after their physical presence is gone. If we are fortunate, these voices are uplifting and give us strength.
My grandmother lovingly taught me “ladylike” behavior for a girl of the 1950’s. She taught me how to cook one winter when my mother was bedridden with back problems. She shared her superstitions, which haunt me to this day. Somehow she always made this tall, awkward little girl feel beautiful and loved.
My mother, by example, showed me how to be a loving, compassionate person and to mother with unconditional love. She shared her wisdom and knowledge, and enveloped me in gentleness, kindness and security. She taught me to love books and to cherish my individuality. She gave me the courage to follow my own path in life and to savor the astounding beauty to be found in quiet moments.
My aunt loved me so thoroughly that I considered her my “second” mother. I loved sleeping over at her house with my cousins and feeling so totally at home.
My great-aunt inspired my love of cooking and baking and creating a warm and welcoming home. She was a small-town schoolteacher, but in my eyes she was the epitome of social grace. I still have her old recipe cards with her handwriting in faded ink, which always remind me of the delicious aromas of baking which filled her home.
Being the nervous and anxious person that I am, I will always remember my Godmother telling me near the end of her life, how she realized that ultimately most of the things she worried so much about through her lifetime never came to pass. I try to remind myself of this as I worry and fret.
And so, this blog is dedicated to all women who give their best to the people they love, but especially to these women whose love and caring follow me through each day, and whose voices will forever remain in my heart.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Christmas Blessings
I rose this morning to clouds and a drizzle of rain which has diminished my Christmas snows into a bleak reminder of the lovely mounds of white that gently molded our landscape last weekend. That is winter in the northeast now – instead of the winter-long snow cover we enjoyed years ago, our snows are sporadic and quick to disappear. But, this year we were blessed with a White Christmas, which always enhances the holiday for me.
My time was limited for pre-Christmas activities this year – caring for my grandbabies during the day, working in the office on evenings and weekends, and trying to keep up with mundane household tasks leaves me with little time or energy.
One of my fondest memories of this year’s Christmas, though, will be the afternoon I spent baking cookies with my sixteen-month-old granddaughter. I thought she was probably too young to really participate, but I unearthed a pretty child’s apron from the chest upstairs, and she was transformed into a little baker. Actually, she loved it. She helped stir the dough; as I rolled each ball of dough in sugar and placed it on the cookie sheet, she grabbed it off and took a tiny bite. Then she kept an eye on the oven window as they baked. I have a photo of her standing at the counter in her little apron, wooden spoon in hand, that will always warm my heart.
Last week we enjoyed a Christmas brunch with my sister and her husband. I love visiting other peoples’ homes during the holidays – enjoying their lovely decorations, delicious foods, and conversation.
After several evenings of furious wrapping and a trip to the grocery store on Christmas Eve morning, I was already a bit exhausted. However, I managed to put together three arrangements of roses and greens for my daughter-in-law’s Christmas tables, bake a chocolate cream pie for dessert, and prepare a delicious cream of chicken soup to enjoy with my husband and daughter on Christmas Eve.
On Christmas morning, my three children and their families came to open gifts. It was a meager Christmas this year, but we all enjoyed watching the babies open their gifts. At sixteen months, Alivia was a pro at opening the packages, and was particularly taken with a new doll and stroller. Lucas was celebrating his first Christmas at six months, but he jumped right in, ripping paper and playing with each toy as he opened it. Kirk, our fourteen-year old, passed the gifts around to everyone. My family gave me a live Alberta Spruce tree, gaily decorated with tiny gifts; I will plant it outside in the spring and next year my grandchildren can help me string tiny lights on it for Christmas.
My son and daughter-in-law hosted Christmas Dinner – the first time in years I haven’t had dinner here, and it was blissful to see them carrying on the tradition. It was a large gathering of loved ones, and her lovely table settings and delicious food created a memorable time for all of us. Then, we all sat peacefully in the living room and watched the babies play – a quiet time to reflect on the joy of families.
Both of my grandbabies will be with their mothers all next week, so my time will be my own. I have plans for entertaining – with my limited time now, I socialize so little – but, this week will be filled with friends and family. This afternoon I am reconnecting with cousins I haven’t seen in a few years. Tomorrow my husband’s family will gather here for an early supper. I have plans for lunch and shopping with a favorite cousin, a quiet dinner here for a favorite friend, and a day-long shopping trip to the Woodbury outlets with my daughter, daughters-in-law, and a close friend.
This morning my house awaits in its Christmas finery. I baked a cake and some brownies yesterday for today’s visitors, and just before they arrive I will light some candles, turn on some peaceful Christmas music, and enjoy these special moments of the season. The birth of our Lord is the focus of our holiday celebrations, but these precious times with family and friends are indeed reflections of His great love for us.
My time was limited for pre-Christmas activities this year – caring for my grandbabies during the day, working in the office on evenings and weekends, and trying to keep up with mundane household tasks leaves me with little time or energy.
One of my fondest memories of this year’s Christmas, though, will be the afternoon I spent baking cookies with my sixteen-month-old granddaughter. I thought she was probably too young to really participate, but I unearthed a pretty child’s apron from the chest upstairs, and she was transformed into a little baker. Actually, she loved it. She helped stir the dough; as I rolled each ball of dough in sugar and placed it on the cookie sheet, she grabbed it off and took a tiny bite. Then she kept an eye on the oven window as they baked. I have a photo of her standing at the counter in her little apron, wooden spoon in hand, that will always warm my heart.
Last week we enjoyed a Christmas brunch with my sister and her husband. I love visiting other peoples’ homes during the holidays – enjoying their lovely decorations, delicious foods, and conversation.
After several evenings of furious wrapping and a trip to the grocery store on Christmas Eve morning, I was already a bit exhausted. However, I managed to put together three arrangements of roses and greens for my daughter-in-law’s Christmas tables, bake a chocolate cream pie for dessert, and prepare a delicious cream of chicken soup to enjoy with my husband and daughter on Christmas Eve.
On Christmas morning, my three children and their families came to open gifts. It was a meager Christmas this year, but we all enjoyed watching the babies open their gifts. At sixteen months, Alivia was a pro at opening the packages, and was particularly taken with a new doll and stroller. Lucas was celebrating his first Christmas at six months, but he jumped right in, ripping paper and playing with each toy as he opened it. Kirk, our fourteen-year old, passed the gifts around to everyone. My family gave me a live Alberta Spruce tree, gaily decorated with tiny gifts; I will plant it outside in the spring and next year my grandchildren can help me string tiny lights on it for Christmas.
My son and daughter-in-law hosted Christmas Dinner – the first time in years I haven’t had dinner here, and it was blissful to see them carrying on the tradition. It was a large gathering of loved ones, and her lovely table settings and delicious food created a memorable time for all of us. Then, we all sat peacefully in the living room and watched the babies play – a quiet time to reflect on the joy of families.
Both of my grandbabies will be with their mothers all next week, so my time will be my own. I have plans for entertaining – with my limited time now, I socialize so little – but, this week will be filled with friends and family. This afternoon I am reconnecting with cousins I haven’t seen in a few years. Tomorrow my husband’s family will gather here for an early supper. I have plans for lunch and shopping with a favorite cousin, a quiet dinner here for a favorite friend, and a day-long shopping trip to the Woodbury outlets with my daughter, daughters-in-law, and a close friend.
This morning my house awaits in its Christmas finery. I baked a cake and some brownies yesterday for today’s visitors, and just before they arrive I will light some candles, turn on some peaceful Christmas music, and enjoy these special moments of the season. The birth of our Lord is the focus of our holiday celebrations, but these precious times with family and friends are indeed reflections of His great love for us.
May His love enfold you at Christmas and always.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
The Legacy of Grandmothers
For the past few days, a voice in my head has constantly reminded me of my grandmother’s birthday this coming Monday – for some reason, I have been moved to reach out to my sister and cousins to come together for a celebration. My grandmother was born on December 15, 1898 – 110 years ago – and I can’t get her out of my mind this week.
This isn’t surprising to me – she lived with us during my growing up years and was a tremendous force in my life – providing loving security and all of the lessons needed by a girl child of the 1950’s to grow into a “lady” with morals and faith and “manners.” She was far from perfect, and as I grew up I recognized her flaws as powerfully as I appreciated her love, but her voice forever speaks to me as I make crucial decisions in my own life.
In earlier blogs, I have mentioned that I share the daily care of my grandson, Lucas, with his other grandmother, Sheryl. We each have him at our separate homes two days a week, and spend Wednesday at my house, giving Lucas and my granddaughter, Alivia, a double dose of grandmothering. I jokingly call it “doubles day”. This arrangement works out wonderfully for Lucas – he is secure and happy, and always surrounded with the loving faces he knows so well.
Sheryl and I have become very close friends since our children were married, and we enjoy sharing this precious time with our grandson. Our day together is filled with conversation and laughter, and we handle the stresses with grace. Sheryl often says that we “zig and zag” well together.
Over the past few days, as I was pondering this strong feeling of my grandmother’s upcoming birthday, I also thought about Sheryl’s stories of growing up with her grandmothers. Both of them lived with her for a long period of time during her childhood, and had a strong influence on her – passing on a deep religious faith, a love of crafts and needlework, and a loving security.
I wonder if being raised with grandmothers intimately involved in our lives has made us more determined to care for our own grandchildren. Maybe on some level we are called to pass on the love and security that they provided to us – we realize the importance of their unconditional love and will perpetuate this grandmotherly love for another generation.
These three women, who have been gone from our lives now for a long time, are still alive in our hearts, and passing on the greatest possible gift to their own great-great-grandchildren – a grandmother’s love and care.
Happy Birthday, Grandma!!!
This isn’t surprising to me – she lived with us during my growing up years and was a tremendous force in my life – providing loving security and all of the lessons needed by a girl child of the 1950’s to grow into a “lady” with morals and faith and “manners.” She was far from perfect, and as I grew up I recognized her flaws as powerfully as I appreciated her love, but her voice forever speaks to me as I make crucial decisions in my own life.
In earlier blogs, I have mentioned that I share the daily care of my grandson, Lucas, with his other grandmother, Sheryl. We each have him at our separate homes two days a week, and spend Wednesday at my house, giving Lucas and my granddaughter, Alivia, a double dose of grandmothering. I jokingly call it “doubles day”. This arrangement works out wonderfully for Lucas – he is secure and happy, and always surrounded with the loving faces he knows so well.
Sheryl and I have become very close friends since our children were married, and we enjoy sharing this precious time with our grandson. Our day together is filled with conversation and laughter, and we handle the stresses with grace. Sheryl often says that we “zig and zag” well together.
Over the past few days, as I was pondering this strong feeling of my grandmother’s upcoming birthday, I also thought about Sheryl’s stories of growing up with her grandmothers. Both of them lived with her for a long period of time during her childhood, and had a strong influence on her – passing on a deep religious faith, a love of crafts and needlework, and a loving security.
I wonder if being raised with grandmothers intimately involved in our lives has made us more determined to care for our own grandchildren. Maybe on some level we are called to pass on the love and security that they provided to us – we realize the importance of their unconditional love and will perpetuate this grandmotherly love for another generation.
These three women, who have been gone from our lives now for a long time, are still alive in our hearts, and passing on the greatest possible gift to their own great-great-grandchildren – a grandmother’s love and care.
Happy Birthday, Grandma!!!
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