I could not help but think about my grandmother "Nanny" as Mom and I spent a few hours together. Mom said that she misses her more every year on her birthday than any other day of the year. My mother looks more like my grandmother every passing day. There is a degree of comfort in that, for it as if you can see a glimpse of a loved one in the eyes or the movements of the one who remains.
I have mentioned before that I am constantly scaring myself when I flip on the bathroom light, and there, staring back at me is my paternal grandmother, my maternal grandmother, and my paternal great-grandmother. I am sure that if I had known the other females in my lineage, I would see them there, too. There aren't any ghosties hovering there in the background. Rather, their features are becoming my features.
It doesn't stop when I leave the bathroom. I go to the closet and look down, and I see my mother's feet. I reach for a dress and see my grandmother's hand. I see myself in a photo and realize that I have the same posture and gestures as the women who gave me genes. I make the same faces in reaction to the conversations around me. I know, because most of those have been captured on film as well.
I pull my little girls up into my lap, and they notice every new wrinkle, every new line, hair or blackhead on my face. I used to do the same thing with my grandmother. She delighted in me giving her "facials" to remove all the unwanted intruders from her complexion! I could not get the wrinkles off, but I think I traced every line with my little fingers thousands of times. In the eyes of the world, she was just an aging woman. In my eyes, she was beautiful. She was grace incarnate.
"Meme, your skin is so soft!" "Meme, you smell so nice." The little granddaughters now dote on my mother like I did mine. I am next, Lord-willing.
Mom on her 68th Birthday.
My mother and her mother (Nanny)
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