As I await the impending birth of my granddaughter, I can’t help but think about my Mom and Dad, the precursors of this little girl. My mom died when she was 49 and I was 30; my Dad passed away four years ago at 80. I can’t help wondering about the attributes my Mom might contribute…her hazel eyes (probably not, recessive genes rarely rise to the top), her writing skills, which my daughter, son and I value so much, or her nurturing nature. Perhaps Maya will inherit my father’s height (which saved my son from being 5’5”), his striking good looks and athletic ability. (Although my son has his own share of these qualities and might claim credit if Maya becomes a gorgeous jock). It doesn’t really matter. She will be her own person, possessing her own qualities and talents. But there is a sweetness to reflecting on the legacy of my parents. I, like most people I know am addicted to multi-tasking and to-do lists. I don’t often stop to think about my parents. This time of waiting has opened up space for mindfulness. It’s kind of surreal watching the past morph into the future.
