I've Become My Grandmother

I think I've said this before, maybe not. I know I have thought it many times. Life is so strange! Maybe it isn't life that is strange, but it's the passage of time that is strange. Something is very strange. It didn't seem like too many years ago that I was going though a period of "lasts": my last high school exam, my last day living in my home town, and last day as a teenager. These were always followed by firsts: first day living in a foreign country, first day of college, and first date ever.

The years flew by. There were the first years of marriage, first child, and first days of kindergarten.  Quickly following were first band concerts, first athletic events, and each child's first solo drive in the car. Then, in a matter of a few short years, each concert, each game, and each meet was unbelievably the last one.

Time, as it tends to do, sped on. In rushed our kids' marriages, first grandchildren, and first meals in our children's homes. Within moments our children now got to experience their kids' first days of kindergarten, first band concerts, and first athletic events. The circle continued moving.

The oldest grandchildren have now graduated from school, gotten married, and have their own homes. What wonderful firsts for all of us. Sadly though, in the midst of these new firsts I am once again seeing  "lasts". Tonight is the last elementary school Science Fair in which a grandchild will participate. Then, in a blink of an eye, grandchildren will graduate from high school for four consecutive years. Then, four years later, the last one will be gone. Unbelievable. Round and round it goes.

By the time all this happens, my children will probably be grandparents. Their grand-kids could be starting school. And "firsts" start all over again.

All this round and around of firsts and lasts started my head spinning while I was just innocently sitting here wondering what to write. Strangely, I found myself staring at my thin-skinned, blue-veined, age-spotted hands. They reminded me of Grandmother's hands. I vividly remember sitting on her lap as a girl and watching her veins pop up after I had pushed them down. She seemed quite old to me, at least fifty. Her old hands with their pop-up veins kept me fascinated for long periods of time. Now, as I stared down, I discovered that her hands have attached themselves to the ends of my arms. Now that is a first. And their pop-up veins still fascinate me.

Somehow, somewhere, in the spinning of time and the cycle of firsts and lasts, I have become by grandmother. How did that happen?

I'm going to go ponder life's mysteries for awhile--be back later,
Jan