Since I was a child, my mother would regale us with stories of our grandfather. How his mustache curled, how he would take her and her sisters ice skating and hunting, how he laughed. After hearing a hunting story for the umpteenth time, I would role my eyes and think how silly and sentimental my mother was, and how senial she must have thought I was that I needed to hear the same story over and over again.
Driving to work this morning, I thought about one of those stories. And it struck me.. how funny is it that 30 some years after a man has passed away, somebody that he barely even began to know at the time of his death is thinking about him and wishing him well. Like the marine layer lifting of San Diego on a June day, it suddenly became apparent to me that my mother wasn't just a silly sentimental fool when she was telling me those stories. Those stories were a tool to bond me and my sister with her father that she loved so so much, that she knew that we would never get the chance to know. They were a bridge between generations.
So, begins this blog. My heart is brimming with stories of my mother that I want to world, and more importantly, my yet to be conceived children, to know. Little snap shots of life that can give insight into a wonderful person who left the world way to soon. I can only hope that generations from now, my children's children's children can find this blog on a google search (if such thing exists) and know what wonderfulness made their existence possible. And so, it begins.....
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