In the course of learning more about Dorthy and myself, I discovered that family trees offer nice branches to climb. But don’t we sometimes wonder who the women were, the mothers whose strength formed the trunk? What defined their hearts and their souls … what made them laugh and cry … what forces had them perched on that tightrope between sacrifice and selfishness … what gave them strength and what could destroy them. When we search for those answers, we also discover more about ourselves. As one character learns, “Now I understand just how strong they were, their passions and desires, loves and losses. How much we really have in common …”
The novel proved to be an emotional, physical and spiritual roller coaster, one of the most invigorating rides of my life … terrifying yet satisfying.
Sometimes I wonder how my grandmother and I would have gotten along. But then again, if she had lived, would I be here? My mother’s life would have certainly been different, and in turn, so would have mine.
Do I have my grandmother’s domestic skills? Definitely not. But I do have her green eyes. Maybe she gave me those to see the world and describe what I see there, what she could not stay long enough to savor for herself.
And it looks pretty darn good from here.
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