True Grit

Two years ago, preparing for my new role in life, becoming a grandmother, the wondering started, doubting if I had the true grit for this next leg in the adventure. In a short span of time, six weeks to be exact, our family expanded by three. Three new souls to nurture, to pamper, romp and wrestle with. It didn't take long for me to let go of preconceived notion of what a grandmother should be. Abandoning perception of perfection, I pinned my sight on how much love could be draped around tiny shoulders. This I practice, this unfailing act of vintage love, a valentine for my own heart. In his book, Tuesdays With Morrie, Mitch Albom quoted Morrie: "As long as we can love each other, and remember the feeling of love we had, we can die without ever really going away. All the love you created is still there. All the memories are still there. You live on--in the hearts of everyone you have touched and nurtured while you were here." Years ago, I underlined that paragraph, along with many gems in this beloved book. Closing eyes, I hear my grandma's high-pitched voice instructing me how to roll a perfect pie crust. Grandpa, teaching us city kids the art of milking a cow. Squirt, squirt, pinging metal bucket in barn. In their own way, in their being, a brush stroke of immeasurable time and experience, they left behind cherished memories. Ancestral imprints, wisps of time designated as reservoirs, a supply of unending wealth. Like a love bank it is, interest accruing over time, withdrawals made with each photograph, each recipe and sound of cow's low "mooo" in grass green pasture. Maybe the elementary act of being there is the formula, the instruction, in believing that crazy yes, I absolutely do have the true grit after all.

 

And if apprehension muddles the mind, threatens security deposit made generations ago, I steer gaze to riches and wealth...

 

 

 

 where being there forever is singularly, the motivation I need to passionately believe.