The Elders . . .
I am the matriarch of the clan and have been for some years now, but more and more - the older I get, it seems - I miss my elders. The women who actually blazed the trail for me.
So many times recently I have longed for my mom's presence and counsel. Stronger than she ever gave herself credit for, and beloved by pretty much everyone, my mom was a quiet force to be reckoned with. You never get over losing your mom . . . you just don't, and with the things that have transpired in the past couple of years of my life - I really, really miss her advice and her love.
And I think about my mom's mom - my Irish Gramma - more than you might think.
I'm a first-generation American - that means that there is a lot of stuff in my house that came on the ship from Ireland with Gramma, her sister my Great Aunt Lily, my mom, and my uncle. Things that I seem to always be evaluating to see what to keep, both from Gramma, and also from my mom. It's not an easy process. All these "things" have kept my ancestors close in my heart, they are the physical evidence of lives well lived and hearts well loved . . . and I'm having a tough time letting some of them go.
This is me, and my Gramma Doherty. I've shared this photo before - and I've written about my Gramma before, but today she's very much at the front of my mind.
I'm guessing this was taken around 1957-8. I know it was in a Chicago city park - most likely in the South Shore neighborhood. She was in her 70's here. I really love this photo of us - and I particularly love her hands. Those hands were my mom's hands, too (and my uncle's) - both of whom are long gone. My cousin, S, has these hands, too. I do not - I have my dad's hands.
Two other family members who remember Gramma always say she was mean. In fact, I've had a falling out with one of those cousins because their story differed so much from my own and I made the mistake of calling them on it - they could always dish it out but couldn't take it coming back. I always feel sad when I hear them say she was mean, because to me, she wasn't mean. She was wonderful. It's sad to me that their memories are not sweet. I loved being with her - and I was with her a lot after my father died and my mom moved home. I had "tea with Gramma" every afternoon - although mine was mostly milk with just enough tea to take the chill off. :-) She would probably not be surprised that I still drink tea, but she would be surprised that I drink it black with sugar - no milk in the tea for me. She taught me to knit, which obviously has had a major impact on my life. Simply, I loved her.
So many times recently I have longed for my mom's presence and counsel. Stronger than she ever gave herself credit for, and beloved by pretty much everyone, my mom was a quiet force to be reckoned with. You never get over losing your mom . . . you just don't, and with the things that have transpired in the past couple of years of my life - I really, really miss her advice and her love.
And I think about my mom's mom - my Irish Gramma - more than you might think.
I'm a first-generation American - that means that there is a lot of stuff in my house that came on the ship from Ireland with Gramma, her sister my Great Aunt Lily, my mom, and my uncle. Things that I seem to always be evaluating to see what to keep, both from Gramma, and also from my mom. It's not an easy process. All these "things" have kept my ancestors close in my heart, they are the physical evidence of lives well lived and hearts well loved . . . and I'm having a tough time letting some of them go.
This is me, and my Gramma Doherty. I've shared this photo before - and I've written about my Gramma before, but today she's very much at the front of my mind.
I'm guessing this was taken around 1957-8. I know it was in a Chicago city park - most likely in the South Shore neighborhood. She was in her 70's here. I really love this photo of us - and I particularly love her hands. Those hands were my mom's hands, too (and my uncle's) - both of whom are long gone. My cousin, S, has these hands, too. I do not - I have my dad's hands.
Two other family members who remember Gramma always say she was mean. In fact, I've had a falling out with one of those cousins because their story differed so much from my own and I made the mistake of calling them on it - they could always dish it out but couldn't take it coming back. I always feel sad when I hear them say she was mean, because to me, she wasn't mean. She was wonderful. It's sad to me that their memories are not sweet. I loved being with her - and I was with her a lot after my father died and my mom moved home. I had "tea with Gramma" every afternoon - although mine was mostly milk with just enough tea to take the chill off. :-) She would probably not be surprised that I still drink tea, but she would be surprised that I drink it black with sugar - no milk in the tea for me. She taught me to knit, which obviously has had a major impact on my life. Simply, I loved her.
Gramma left everything she knew and "burned her bridges" as she put it when she came to America to start a new life here with her husband and family, blazing her own trail in a new country.
My mom had change thrust upon her when my dad died, and she blazed a trail not only as a single parent, but also as a woman in the workforce when neither of these things were common. She was so very ahead of her time.
And then there's me. What have I done that's trailblazing? Pretty much nothing that I can think of. I;ve certainly had change thrust upon me, but I've rolled with the punches, and pretty much I've just lived my life as it came along. I pursued the things I was interested in and made a living the best way I could. I married and divorced a couple of times . . . never had any children. I guess the one thing I can say is that I have been the watchwoman for many of my friends. I have traveled a number of life's transitional paths first, in many cases, and have held the lantern to light the way for those who have followed me. My work allowed me to learn a little about a lot of things, but I never specialized in any one area - so now I find myself a generalist. And, in the grand scheme of things, I think a generalist is a good thing to be.
Now, as I look forward toward the next part of my life - which will likely be the last part of my life - I am reminded of something that Joan Anderson says in her books (I am currently rereading them): "We are as unfinished as the shoreline along the beach, meant to transcend ourselves again and again." I am reminded, and I can see as I examine my life that I remain an "unfinished" woman. I keep moving forward the best I can, sharing what knowledge I have when I can, and always looking for new things to learn. Even if I never blaze a trail, I know I came from women who did and who taught me well how to live my best life.
Gramma died at the age of 80. She would have been 136 years old this year. My mom died a week shy of 82 and would have been 98 this year.
And so, I am the elder now. I am the matriarch of the clan. Do I have only until I'm 84? History would suggest it, but let's hope I prove history wrong . . .
Onward.
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