Generations of women

I remember very distinctly sitting in my 8th grade geometry glass, in the next-to-last row on the very far left side of the room, thinking, "As miserable as this is, time is still passing and it won't be long before I'm well out of these middle school days." That was 18 years ago, gone in a flash. I think about that moment often, when in a situation that I either need to survive or relish, as a reminder that time passes all too quickly, for better or worse.

As I sat in the dark, rocking my daughter to sleep tonight, that moment in geometry class came to mind.  Eighteen years from now she will be in college somewhere.  College.  My tiny precious can't-even-talk-yet still-toddles-and-falls baby will be a co-ed.  At least I hope so.  I have no idea what her life will turn out to be.  How long it will last, how happy it will make her, how many other people she may go on to create that will continue this cycle of raising the next generation is a total mystery and full of potential.

My sweet grandmother is in the hospital right now.  I am certain, at some point, she was being rocked by her mother who had the very same thoughts about her daughter that I had about mine tonight.  I so wish I could go to her and tell her how wonderful her daughter's life was going to be; how she was going to marry her love of 50 years and see her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren grow up to do amazing things; how she was going to see our worlds most greatest technological advances and learn how to email after the age of 80.  I wish I could confirm her hopes that her daughter would have the kind of life she wanted her to have. And I pray that one day, as my grand-daughter is rocking her sweet little one, she has the very same thought about me.

I love you, Ralphie.  Get well soon.