Living the Legacy

This is a continuation of the next previous blog.


Now I turn more and more to my own grandchildren. To them am I Goldie?? I ask myself. Not really, comes the answer. To them you are Grandma Jo and there will be stories about you like there were stories about Goldie. Your sister will tell them, your friends, your children and your old lovers. Each tale will display another aspect of yourself. It’s seems we all create our own reality after all.


So,no I am not Goldie to my grandchildren. Sometimes I don't even remember Goldie yet she died when I was a teenager and I'd known her all my life. And then I found the picture. It was of Goldie and my sister Sherry and me. Sherry is holding our cat, kitty.I place the time shortly after we had moved from Illinois to Iowa. So I was probably in my seventh Summer and Sherry in her 10th or 11th. The left side was torn off as if to eliminate someone else in the photo. My mother perhaps? I don’t remember the picture much less seeing it entact. My sister and I both look a little wild, like our hair hadn’t been combed and our dresses were shabby. My grandmother, Goldie is standing behind and to the left of us, her right arm protectively surrounding me while her right hand rests on my shoulder. Sherry stands alone and to the right. Our first home in Iowa stands behind our tableau taking up the majority of the picture, as if the photographer wanted to get a two for one shot. The kids and the house. My suspicion about the missing person being my mother holds up, especially if it was not a flattering picture, She would have wanted the images of Goldie and the girls but not an unflattering one of herself. She may have torn herself out of the picture. How unlike my mother!

And then the shadow of the photographer is seen. Is it my Father or is it my Mother? Perhaps a neighbor or Goldie’s husband Wesley. There is no way to know. The moment, like the photograph, has been lost in time. Yet my mother kept it tucked behind a small toothpick holder above her kitchen sink. For how long? Was it just recently put there, or did she keep it like a tailsman and move it from home to home? I suspect it has been in this house for some time.

My imagination tells me she missed that period in her life. She missed her daughters as little girls as all mothers do. She had a small rememberance of that time in this tiny little picture. Her Mother coming to visit her grown up daughter who was, nonetheless, the baby of the family. Her Mother, Goldie drove all the way from Illinois to Iowa to visit her youngest daughter and her family. It was an effort of love and I remember the visit only slightly. I think I remember more that they came, or I see them driving away and that’s all. Where did they sleep? How long did they stay? Who cooked and what went on in the kitchen? All of these questions are unanswered in my mind. But I can imagine some of it now that I too am a Grandma and visit my daughers from time to time.

There is a bond that grows between mother and daughter from the moment of birth until the moment of death. Ask any woman, no matter what age, about the birth of their child or children and you will hear a very detailed story. The rememberance of the pain may have subsided, the significance of the event never does. I did not know of this bond when my mother was alive as well as I do now that she is dead. I do intend to continue to strengthn the bond between each of my own daughters and especially between me and my grandchildren. It seems like a fun thing to do. And I’m excited to see how it will work out. I love a challenge!