My Grandmother
I am enjoying a book, Of Water and Spirit: Ritual, Magic and Initiation in the Life of an African Shaman by Malidoma Patrice Some and dreaming about my grandmother. He writes about his nurturing relationship with his grandfather with deep reverence. Ancestors are honored in his country in Africa.
His stories about his grandfather remind me of my grandmother. She is my ancestor and I believe I am her legacy. Recently I purchased three aprons— the long ones that cover me from neck to knee. Decades of memories of my grandmother danced in my memory. Nanny (I named her that) always wore an apron. Many times she decorated herself in an apron from morning until night. One day I reminded her to take it off minutes before we departed for church!
My Grandmother also wore nylons that hooked to a garter and although she seldom weighed more than one hundred pounds she always wore a girdle. I remember the one and only time I saw her in slacks, although I no longer remember the occasion.
I dedicated my first book, Healing Grief—A Mother’s Story, to her, writing, “To my grandmother, Shirley Jellerson, who has loved me unconditionally since the beginning of time.”
She loved me unconditionally for fifty-six years. I was perfect in her eyes, which caused unrest in our family where nobody felt entitled to be perfect and everyone yearned to be.
I know I am living her legacy when
I love like her
I listen without criticism or judgment like her
I begin and end each day with prayers like her
I forgive like her.
I make a lemon meringue pie like her
I openly grieve the loss of friends like her
I write Thank You notes like her
I nurture my grandchildren like her
I shop for Christmas presents in July
I believe we chose each other well. She is my ancestor and I am doing my best to live her legacy out loud.