I have been realizing lately how fortunate my children, my brother, and I are to know Mama in her nineties. We can look at her life in its fullness, with nearly all of the story written. We can see the way she approached challenges and changes as each new stage unfolded and compare our own outlooks. We can admire her good health habits, her commitment to look her best, her calm in the face of trying times.
As each of us experiences more of life, we gain a clearer picture of who Mama is. Her enduring enthusiasm and humor are distinctive, uncommon, characteristics. Her essence remains, though short term memory and judgment decline. She still has the impulse to help, to be patient, to not burden or inconvenience. She is still motivated to brush her hair and put on lipstick and jewelry, before going out to greet the world. I watch her and wonder, "How much is she like her mother, her grandmother, and their ancestors? Is it even possible that she could be very different from those women who have passed along temperament and manner for centuries? Which of these family traits have become my own?"
Her recollections surface spontaneously from as far back as childhood in the 1920s. Her adult grandchildren travel back in time to see her cooking doughnuts,in a pot of hot oil, with only her little sister as a helper. They see her at the prom in an organza dress that wilted in the heat of a crowded ballroom. They listen to her energetic piano playing - the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" signaling her best friend to come over and play. These stories are magical, vivid replays of moments that reveal Mama's essence. Our family values them like fine jewels. We see ourselves reflected in these stories and know the meaning of an unbroken family circle.
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