Life

At ninety-one, my grandma continues to represent an old ideal: stoicism.

She is composed and kind, generous and forgiving, a fearless mind and a calm soul.
Nothing has ever succeeded in breaking her spirit, not the loss of her mother as a child, nor the experience of a father lost to depression, nor her childhood during the depression, nor the birth of five children during the war in bombed out hospitals, alone, alone, and again alone.

I wouldn’t prescribe that life to anyone, but I would hope that everyone could learn from it. It’s a powerful message about the ability to move on, not like a tank, but like a gentle breeze, one that touches flowers and stones alike, that spreads life in its passing and leaves a soothing sensation in its wake.

It’s what we associate with mothers. It’s what we should expect from humanity.