Inherited
The strength behind the woman.
It is quiet, unspoken.
Her soft, light blue eyes, once strong and clear, now watery, peer gently at me through her thick glasses.
I notice those eyes gently gathering data as she scans across my face, hoping for recognition, to put me in a place in her memory that fits, that is true.
It’s her white hair that I admire, her thin skin that I fear, and her ability to stand up and hug me when she has been frail for years that beats all odds.
This elderly woman has wiped many bottoms, children and grandchildren. She has disciplined, yelled, screamed. She has cared, nourished and cuddled. She is the tall trunk of the pine tree, sprouting many branches, holding them all steadily with ease.
She raised her family tree when times were tough, when children came back for help she helped them. She did not let them fend for themselves. If they needed shelter or love, she gave it to them. Even if it was tough sometimes, it still felt like love somehow.
She does not register the power she holds.
All who stem from her, are grateful, connected. This matriarch.
The ode to her.
I owe her my love of muesli and bran flakes. My love for the written word. My blue eyes. My ability to leave men. My ability to say what I think. My ability to tuck myself in at night. My ability to play when there is darkness. My ability to keep surviving through all the odds.
Her.
You don’t get to choose which parts you inherit. Biologically. Characteristically. Behaviourally. Instinctively.
But you know, where your roots are. This mother, this grandmother, this great grandmother.
What is it that she wants you to know? To continue? To foster?
Does she want you to be frivolous and squander your life away on reality TV, social media and fashion? Or does she want you to nourish yourself with whole foods, get the sunshine on your skin, to lie on the grass and laugh with those you love? To continue the plight? To do the things she will no longer be able to do.
What is it that she wants you to honour? To uphold? To remember?
Are you not one and the same, this flesh and blood? Do you not feel her coursing through you? Do you not dream of her in her various formations? Do you not speak from the same biting tongue, your mother tongue?
It is quiet, unspoken. This love, this inheritance. It is connection beyond words. All you need to do is turn up, be present. And you are loved.
