Gray's Grandmother

My Aunt Fran recently sent me a wonderful present -- one of a set of paintings that my Grandmother commissioned local Cincinnati artist Mary Helen Wallace, to paint of each of her children. This particular painting is of my mother. When I unwrapped the painting, I recognized it instantly because it was prominently featured in virtually all childhood memories that took place in my Grandparent's house in Cincinnati. The painting of my Mom watched over me as my cousins and I jumped on the beds in the back room (an activity which I am reasonably sure was not sanctioned by our Grandmother), while I made doll clothes out of dish rags from my Grandmother's kitchen, and over a myriad of other childhood fancies. It functioned as sort of a guardian angel of the rooms I used to play in as a child.

My mother died when I was very young, so although I have early memories of her, I still never really felt as if I knew her. I only ever thought about the feeling of what it was like to grow up without a mother -- an infinite chasm in my life where a mother should have been. I thought about her the day I turned 16, when I drove off to go college, when I graduated from college, when I got married, when I found out Gibu and I were going to have a baby. The first time I saw my baby daughter, my first thought was of my mother. These days though, I think about her differently; a way that I couldn't have possibly have understood before I had a child of my own. I think about what it was like for her to know she would never see her only child grow up. In all the times I thought about my mother, I find it strange that I never thought about what it was like for her to have to say goodbye. Now that I have a daughter of my own, it is this that reminds me that each day is precious and that although the days are long; the years are short.

As Gray grows up, I want to be the mother to her that I never had, but I'd like to think that my Mom would have been for me. I want to shield and protect her, but not too much. Help her make the right decisions, but give her the space to figure out what those decisions are. I want to teach her to be brave, but cautious. I want her to see the world and be free, but to feel like she has roots in a place where she truly belongs. I want her to learn generosity and kindness; to love animals, reading and learning. I hope she will grow up to be a strong, young woman who knows how to speak her mind and can hold her own counsel, but that she will be soft with those she loves. I want her to love wildly without fear of heartbreak. And I want to be there for her for all of it; as much as she wants me to be anyway.

Gray will never get a chance to know her maternal Grandmother, but the portrait of her now hangs in our foyer overlooking Gray's small playroom where I hope she can continue her trend as a guardian angel of childhood memories -- only this time, for my daughter.