Sixty-six years ago, my mother gave birth to six and a half pounds of me. I thought about my mother, her mother, those who came before her and those who came after. Generations of mother’s who gave birth, who literally breathed new life onto the planet. Ancestors whose blood, whose traits were shared and passed on appearing in the faces who followed them in the years beyond their lifetime.
I resemble my mother, but inherited my spirited strength from my Aunt Rose and her Aunt Rose before her. My Great Aunt Rose, an immigrant from Ireland with only a third-grade education, stood tall in her truth at a mere four foot eleven. Undeniably this strength runs through my veins.
Family traits appeared as curly locks and freckled faces. Glimpses of personalities of those who came before us channeled through a smile, a walk, a laugh or our innate need to nurture, protect and just plain survive.
Generations of mothers, all different and yet the same. Each passing on the threads of family that continue to weave the fabric where we’re all intertwined.