Me, a young mother of sixty-five, now has an adult daughter who has a newborn daughter? Me, a young daughter of sixty-five, now has a mother of ninety? Sort of amazing, isn’t it? I know that this happens all the time, but to me?
Yesterday four generations of fearless (mostly) women from ninety years to three weeks met in my mom’s Cramer Hill dining room. Marguerite, Marguerite, Kim and Nora–my mom, me, my daughter and granddaughter…
Great-grandmother met her great-granddaughter for the first time and cooed in delight. She sang songs that she made up on the spot for her first great-grandchild. Nora blinked and slept. My daughter busied herself in the kitchen when my husband, Carlos, and I wrestled on the dining room carpet–the winner to hold the baby first. (Nah, that’s a joke, but not by much.) My brother, Bill, smiled proudly at his first great-niece and joined us in the photo.
When I moved from North Camden to this row house in Cramer Hill in 1961, age eleven, I never thought that I’d be there in 2015 as Number Two of four generations getting our photo taken. I never imagined that I could write about such a day and put it out for all the world to read.
Dang! Life is amazing.