Worth a thousand words

 The best person for me to be around when I'm low on self-esteem is my mother.

No one is happier to hear your voice on the phone or see you at her door. If you dress for a family occcasion with just a modicum of fashion sense, she'll say you look stunning. (Though she'll also tell you you're too mature to wear a bikini, and don't get her started on buying jeans that already have holes in them.)

My confidence boost is generational: I could do no wrong in the eyes of my mother's mother either. Grandmom was not only good for a compliment; she was a haven from hurt and anxiety, from worry -- from just about anything. As a child, I  appreciated the things she spoiled me with: lunch at the Woolworth's counter, toys I craved, anything I wanted to eat at Horn & Hardart. As an adult, she enthralled me with family stories and guided me with plain-spoken wisdom. 

She worked her fingers to the bone for much of her life, including childhood on a farm. She supported my grandfather's many efforts to be his own boss. She was stubborn but committed. And when it came to protecting her offspring, she was a hell cat: You didn't want to cross her.

She's on my mind right now because as I write this, it is July 17, 2021, one day after what would have been her 106th birthday. She was with us for 89 years, and I am grateful for that. Yet I miss her every day. 

Though it can be hard, I take refuge in photos of her, and none says more about how much my grandmother loved being with her family than the one here, which I keep on the side of my refrigerator. It's from the mid-'80s, when we had a reunion of her relatives that numbered about 100 people.

It's a brief moment snatched from the happy chaos in the hall where we celebrated. Grandmom's hand is clenched around my sister's; one of the grandchildren has an arm around her. They are delighted to be there. 

And her smile? It's like a burst of fireworks that says, "It doesn't get much better than this." 

It doesn't Grandmom. Happy birthday.


    


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