I am my mother’s daughter – and I am not.
Her mother’s Depression Era instincts begat her own frugal ways; my inherent sense of thrift, my daughter’s amazing resourcefulness. Piercing gray steel gave birth to crystalline blue integrity; cerulean pools of cool confidence to the flashing hazel hope of roads yet untraveled.
We learn, we heal, we grow – the journeys of past generations indelibly paving the way for the next.
Satisfied – her job well done – she road quietly smiling in the passenger seat that trip so many years ago. Once home, she just as silently hung up her keys and walked away from a life of cancer at the age of 45.
Today I race past that invisible mile marker, wind in my hair, literally overflowing with love and hard-won perspective; this sudden realization:
I will be here on my daughter’s graduation day.
Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I whisper a “Thank You” to my mother’s Mother’s eyes.