Grateful Rememberings

I am struck by the enormity of the love I have received and only know its breadth and depth by the chasm that lies empty now. The sweet tenderness of my grandmother, a dollop of sour cream in a bowl of borsht only served after she would hold my hands in hers under warm soapy water.  The love, care and feeding, clothes on my back and food in my belly, provided by a mother who struggled but found ways to raise us three on her own. A father I admired, who survived the ravages of war only to return home to be savaged by the vagaries of cancer. His legacy bears fruit each time I stare in wonder asking why or work on my own creations. Their kindness, wisdom, caring, and the sureness of their embraces as well as their absence have all shaped me. I am made in their image and speak with their voices. There is one other who lifted me from childhood, steadied my hand and straightened my shoulders. Who joined me to form something extraordinary. I am almost hesitant to add her to the list because I still feel the connection, a phantom part of me, the ache persists. But in this litany of appreciation she sits squarely in the center and with this meditation on the fullness of my life, I celebrate those that loved and cared for me.

In this remembering, the chasm fills with love and gratitude, which I am learning to share.