It is the day
before Mother’s Day, 2014, as I write this, the evening of an unseasonably warm Saturday in May
that ended with several afternoon downpours. As I sit in my office, I still hear the rhythm of the spring
rain outside my window.
I have not written
an entry to my blog in over a month.
The last time I did I was a week away from attending my 40th
High School Reunion. That was five
weeks ago– a distant, heartwarming memory of being with old friends whom I haven’t
seen in decades. It was an event I
was hesitant to attend, but afterward, I was happy that I did. That blog was titled, So, Where Does the Time Go? I still don’t have the answer to
that, except maybe that it just
goes.
I remember the
night of the reunion as I entered the restaurant to over 100 people in
their late 50s; those were the people of my youth, when I was just me. I had a hard time recognizing many of them and then when I found
my own nametag, I realized I also had a hard time recognizing that girl in the
picture, as well. She had my name,
but not really. Her name was Jean
Berman-Feldman. I haven’t gone by
the name “Jean” since I graduated college. And “Berman” was even more unfamiliar to my current
identity. Jean Berman had long
dark hair and a young face- she felt like more of a stranger to me than most of
the people in that room.
Several times, when people who didn’t recognize me asked who I was, I had
to think what my name was. As we
caught up on our lives, I found myself talking more about my children and
grandchild than anything else and mostly everyone did the same thing. Of
course, due to social media, many people knew about my present life and vice
versa.
That dark-haired,
young girl named “Jean” on my nametag is not me anymore. She is certainly a part of me, though, like a
square on a patchwork quilt, joined with all the other patches that make up
Jeannie, past and present- singer, actress, teacher, educational specialist,
wife, writer– a potpourri of all the stages of my life, more than half of it,
being a mother. Those are the most
treasured patches on my quilt. And
this year, another precious patch has been added-- being a grandmother.
Lexi is 11 months
old now and has started to walk- early- unlike her mother and aunt. Her personality is emerging- she is
full of warmth and love. When I
sit on the floor with her while she is playing, she stops several times during
her busy activities to put her head on my chest to show me affection; then she
mischievously takes my glasses off and screams with delight. She waves “bye-bye”, naturally with her
hand facing her most of the time. And just
this week Nanny, her great-grandmother, taught her how to clap hands.
This past year,
which has zoomed by, I have been blessed to not only witness my granddaughter
develop from an infant into a precocious, chubby baby, but also to see my
daughter evolve into an amazing mother.
And Lexi is just as attached to her as her mother was to me and
apparently as I was to my mother (as my mother has told me). She becomes hysterical when Lindsay
just leaves the room. There is a
bond between a mother and child that is like the thread that holds a patchwork
quilt together.
My 31st Mother's Day-- and coincidently, my 31st entry for this blog; perhaps it was meant for me to wait this long to write. This Mother's Day marks
another milestone in my life- my first as a grandmother. Another square has been added to the
patchwork quilt that represents my life. This patch is ocean blue, like Lexi’s eyes; the threads that
bond it to the other patches are golden like her hair. And in the center is her name, Lexi Grace, enclosed in a heart-shape.
Happy Mother’s Day
