My grandmothers were the best women I ever knew. From the day I was born, they were white lights shining on me, getting into my skin and deepening me into the woman I would some day become. When I was young I used to think “when will I reach an age when I can lay down my worries about wrinkles and waistlines?” I knew someday I’d get there, I just didn’t know when. Now I do. It happened when I became Granny, a little less than two years ago.
There’s a genetic alchemy that happens when we become mothers. We suddenly understand our own mothers much better. We love them more. The same thing happens when we become grandmothers, we cherish our own grandmothers more. Or maybe that love part, that best part, just hits the surface. Maybe it lays underground until it’s time to bloom.
Grace allows this transition, you don’t have to have children or grandchildren to lay down the shallow, the inessential. For me, it took that much. Others burn off the outer layer all on their own. Either way, there’s no joy quite like accepting yourself at the deepest level and feeling pure love for self and others without the masks.
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