I was both thrilled and captivated when one of my cousins recently posted a picture of our grandparents on Facebook, circa 1917ish. It was a photo I don’t recall seeing before. Sadly, our grandmother died at an early age before any of her children grew up got married and started families of their own.
Because of her early passing, she has always been a mystery and a person of interest to me especially now that I have entered my less self-absorbed more reflective years. This morning as I sit and gaze upon the people, posed, frozen in history and captured for future generations to ponder; a cascade of thought and emotions floods my nostalgic presence of mind.
My maternal grandmother, Stella Lee gave birth to ten children. My mom, one of three sisters and six brothers was only nine years old when her mom passed away. To me that loss is unimaginable at such a young age but the pain of that loss is visceral and relatable as I would in turn, become motherless at just nineteen. According to the story my mom relayed to me – her death was fairly sudden and traumatic, tragically leaving her husband and children to fend for themselves during some of the worst conditions in Oklahoma history – the dust bowl and the Great Depression. Unthinkable.
While I stare at the stark reality of my roots preserved in weathered sepia tones, I find myself drawn to the expression on my grandmother’s face. I look for traces of my mother’s features . . . of my own which greet me in the mirror every day. Who is she? Do I possess some of her qualities? As she holds my mother’s oldest brother in her arms flanked by her first and second born daughter, I wonder how this resilient woman who bore my mother and nine other children survived during one of our nation’s most desperate tribulations . . . did she have hopes and dreams of more for her life or was she happy and satisfied with the duties that come with being a wife and raising a family?
And then it occurs to me of course, “hopes and dreams” are a more recent luxury afforded to my gender because of those who have come before, who paid the price to achieve equal status in the voting booth, the work place and yes, even in the ethereal world of aspirational goals. Remembering the era in which my grandmother was becoming a young woman, it is safe to assume that the thought of anything else outside of marriage and child bearing most likely never crossed her mind.
Unfortunately, these are questions I will never know the answers to as all of my mother’s siblings are no longer alive to tell their stories or personal recollections of my grandmother Stella Lee, after whom my mother named me. . . Alison Lee.
I can remember asking my mom a few questions about my grandmother, but because of my mother’s tender age when she became motherless, like the faded photo on my desktop; her memories were always sketchy at best. This means, Stella Lee is a woman I will never have the privilege of knowing – not even through the opacity of my mother’s clouded viewfinder.
Left to create an internal portrait of my own design – I begin to think of the qualities she passed on to her ten children to use as my palette. What kind of people did she bring into the world? Firstly, my mother and her siblings were all uniquely gifted in a variety of ways; they were music lovers, accomplished athletes and seemed naturally driven to educate themselves. Coming out of extreme poverty, out of the ten – two became Colonels, some achieved PH.D level along with Stanford MBA’s, lawyer, Real Estate tycoon, hospital administrator, educators and I believe most of them possessed amazing intellect, incomparable work ethic and a general kind heart towards others. Beautiful . . . Stella is slowly taking shape. What a woman she must have been.
But as I am my mother’s daughter, I choose to fill in the final brushstrokes with the colorful palette of my mom’s warmth, intuition and snarky sense of humor. I can only conclude, the grandmother I never had the privilege of seeing with my own eyes – was a beautiful blend of the loveliness she passed on in her DNA to my mother and her beautiful sisters and her amazingly strong and handsome brothers. This is the portrait I will choose to hang in the treasured corridors of my mind of my mother’s mother.
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
The Zen Den
Hello and welcome to The Zen Den. My name is Alison and while I am passionate about many things, my most inspiring driving force is human connection. Blogger, content writer, orthopedic exercise specialist, motivational speaker, international yoga pro, published songwriter, avid poker player, mom and wife are just a few of my titles. But when I do my job at NASA, I am known simply as “The Fairy Zenmother” a role I deeply love because people invite me into their space to help them find their center, relax and stretch their muscles and destress their mind. Here in the blogosphere version of The Zen Den, I invite you into my world where I will explore ideas for creating a better tomorrow and a kinder today. And hopefully, with insight, authenticity and humor; my words, observations and experiences will help you feel calm, centered, intellectually challenged and spiritually enlightened. Alternatively, if you have something you would like to see covered in The Zen Den, just let me know. Your feedback is welcome and valuable to the success of this blog. Finally, my heart is filled with gratitude to have this opportunity to share with all of you.
