I wonder what life was like back then. What were my parents daily concerns. How they perceived us, each other, the world.
When my mom tells me stories, I am always fascinated, yet I know the stories are now filtered through a lifetime of events, lived with presence.
Jackie loves to hear stories about me as a kid, and about her as far back as we can go. And we indulge her to the best of our ability. To a degree I think it is her desire to fill in the gaps, for herself, for us.
I’ve been thinking a lot about writing a book. A legacy. A real verbose one, the kind that keeps you engaged, captivated. And what can a book that I would write, be about? I’ve been asked this question, and I’ve pondered it often to no avail. Until recently. Though it is so presumptuous to say it would be about me, I think I know nothing better than myself. So that is what this new book would be about: my inner self. My adopted self, though I have never been separated from my birth mother and father, my courageous self. The person that God shaped and chiseled (and how) to be ready and willing to become an adoptive mother.
Up until now I thought nobody really cares to read such a book. But as I was watching a movie titled “A monster calls” about this young artist & mom, ready to die an early but unstoppable death, and this one hundred year old tree monster with Liam Neeson’s voice, who appears to her son and helps him process. It occurred to me that my legacy is not about me per se. It’s about what I give of me. I have no desire to hold on to anything. I want to die to self, every day. To be free. To serve freely.
I have accumulated a richness of soul. I was actually born with an old soul, as I recall both my grandmothers would say about me with delight.
My vulnerability in writing would be a lasting gift to my daughters. I have nothing else of true value to gift to them, except my own heart and mind at this stage of life, in this day and age.