I’m thinking today of her mom, who died Mother’s Day weekend last year. Who loved to sing and draw and swing and flirt and ride horses. Who was strong even as she lay dying.
I’m thinking today of her mom—my maternal great grandmother. Of how I remind my mom of her. The one who married a photographer and dreamed of being a writer, but was busy raising three young children in a time when laundry was all done by hand.
I’m thinking today of my other grandmother, the one I never knew. The one who died too young, before her sons were grown, but who I know through stories to be an artist, a musician, a queenly woman.
I’m thinking today of her mother—my father’s grandmother. Not only an organist but someone who was always creating, always doing. The one who was so tiny and strong that when she fell into a heating duct while cleaning she was able to hang there by her elbows until her husband got home from work and pulled her out.
All these women are a part of me somehow, and I am humbled by and thankful for that heritage.
Happy Mother’s Day to you.
