So beautiful. So much love in your words. I think as women our maternal ancestry is something extremely special that shapes us more than most other things in life. After all, a part of us (the eggs in our mother's ovaries) was inside our grandmothers womb when she was pregnant with our mother. Isn't that amazing? Subhan Allah 💕
The woman who raised me, Olga, died four years ago on 2/22. She was the village my parents had to pay for because we didn't have the kind of family that would move in with each other. Two weeks ago, in church, a baby got baptized and the sermon was about those people who love us with absolute undivided generosity and who imprint that into us when we are young and all I thought of was Olga. I took Olga for granted so much in my teenage years and in my early adulthood--she was always in the background (partly because she didn't speak English and so had to sit out many social functions). But even as I rushed about, she would rub me with her thick, soft, leathery hands and pray over me. Two nights before she died, I started getting visions of her--words in Spanish coming into my mind even though I no longer speak it in the house. I knew she was sick because she'd moved back home to Colombia and her daughter would text me and we spoke on the phone every once in a while. And even though her spirit started warning me, I didn't call her in the days leading up to her death. When she died it it me so hard--this was a person who had given decades of her life to loving me. She was never rushing off. She was always there. The background, it turns out, is actually the foreground. The purest love I had ever known. I expect that MANY of the young people in my life will treat me with the same apparent indifference I offered Olga. But I also know that someday, the love I had and gave will hit them as deeply as the love you've expressed for / from Teta. I hope not in guilt, but in gratitude.
Isabel this moved me so deeply. Your description of Olga and your relationship with her hits home for me. Even though the details were different the sense of that relationship is the same sense I had in mine with Teta...
"The background, it turns out, is actually the foreground" - This FLOORED me.
I wasn't VERY close to my grandmother, (because she spoke fully in Punjabi and I couldn't understand her when I was younger.) but I had a nice bond with her. I'd show her all the little paintings and crafts I'd make and she'd be SO happy. And I remember her scent.
And oh my God there's a whole other essay about the friction of the language, isn't there. She couldn't talk to you in another language, and you couldn't understand her well in the language she did talk. And yet it seems important that she still spoke it to you, don't you think?
Great article. It shows the quiet presence of those who shape us and how their love woven into our earliest days often goes unnoticed until they are gone. Although the weight of such regrets does linger, but so does the realization that love transcends memory. Perhaps Teta like so many others who have passed away know... Perhaps love, once given so fully, never fades, even when words and moments do. Thank you for this write-up!
My grandmother was born in 1896 and by the time US women got the vote in 1920 she had an alcoholic husband and two small boys (my father was her third, in 1922). I asked her what it was like to watch horses be replaced by cars in Houston, Texas, but never thought to ask her what - if any - reaction she had when she was free to vote for the first time. I don't know how many times she voted, for that matter; she was a single mom, worked a menial office job until she was 70, and loved her bowling leagues. There is so much I would ask her if I could, and so many regrets that I never did, even though she lived until I was in my 30's.
Kristine, I so relate. The questions we think of after it's too late. I wish I could have asked my grandmother what it was like growing up in the 30s in Egypt, and how much her life changed from that time to her old age. How she navigated all that. What she loved most and what bothered her. I see her more as a person now than I did when she was alive, and I hope that I have a chance to sit with her in heaven, to tell her I love her, to thank her for looking after me, and to ask these questions.
Both my grandmas are still alive, and i can see them face to face every few months. They love me very much (i won't go into details here), and i love them, too. Btw, my grandmas are sisters.
My paternal grandparents were not very nice people, so, no, I don't have great memories of the grandmother. My maternal grandmother apparently adored me, but she died when I was very young. I've long wished I could've known her...
Oh this is beautiful. I was fortunate to grow up living just down the street (2 houses) from my maternal grandparents and aunt, who lived with them. I spent countless hours at their place, eating her delicious molasses cookies (try as I might, I have never been able to duplicate them). She passed away when I was in 4th grade. My memories of her are mostly of a strong, capable presence.
My paternal grandmother lived about 6 hours away, so we only saw them about twice a year. She lived to be 101, so I have more developed, adult memories of her. She was another no-nonsense woman, capable and efficient.
Thanks for spurring a trip into my memories. I think I need to take some time to sit down and write out what I remember of these women.
Awwww Rea yes please write about them.. I love the specificity of those memories. I am so sad that I don't have more specifics to remember. It feels like a betrayal of my mind. She did so much for me.
My paternal grandparents both died before I was even born so I have no memories of them and only a couple of pictures to go off of for even what they looked like.
My closest was my Ah Ma, my paternal grandmother, who lives next door to me. My strongest memory of her was when she lived with us when I was 5. Afterward, I remember going next door to her to help me with my school projects; my favorite was when I had to make a scrapbook of my family tree. I got to hear so many stories from Ah Ma then. Sadly, though, as I grew older, I went over next door less and less. We kids, especially teenies, don't know what's precious until much later. We will all come back around at some point. We all do. And I hope I also have the grace to accept and wait for my children to go to their realization in their own time. Love given unconditionally lives on in the soul of the recipient….
Rachel this is such a beautiful story and a wonderful realization. I feel the same way about how we don't notice the gifts that we have until much later. Amen to your hopes and wishes.
Beautiful tribute. May Allah bless your grandmother’s soul. What you say about her blending into the background to get things done, it makes me think of something an artist said, talking about her lack of fame and her emphasis on her art over her personality. She basically said “I’m not doing this to be known because I’m already known by God.” We live in this age of wanting to be seen but what are we doing? Your grandmother was doing. And here she is being remembered. Maybe your grandmother has the mind of an artist. ❤️
It took me a while to write a comment here, after you tagged me in this sensitive topic I have been contemplating a lot as well recently. It can’t be a coincidence.
I had a complex relationship with my grandma, or nona, as I called her. After she passed away 5 years ago, she visited me quite often in my dreams too. Now a bit less often than before. I will remain private about our story, but I wanted to share that only two weeks ago, I feel that I finally found a resolution between her and me. 🤍
So interesting, Nilda. And I love the idea that there are no coincidences here... I'm so glad you found a resolution and that you feel better about it all. May she rest in peace.
I'm writing a piece now about my grandma Ruth, who was really my step-grandmother, my grandfather's second wife. She came into my life when I was six and didn't pass out of it, until I was in my late 30's and my youngest child was two. She was fiery, dramatic, opinionated, and also loved me fiercely. I still feel her presence with me. Thank you for sharing this Noha. These people who care for us, their influence is palpable.
What a lovely piece, Noha. I adore that you told the story of your grandmother cutting her braids. It makes me think of the bits we inherited from those who came before us and the different ways certain traits or tendencies show up in different bodies. And how wonderful that your younger self got that time with her.
So beautiful. So much love in your words. I think as women our maternal ancestry is something extremely special that shapes us more than most other things in life. After all, a part of us (the eggs in our mother's ovaries) was inside our grandmothers womb when she was pregnant with our mother. Isn't that amazing? Subhan Allah 💕
It really really is. To think I existed inside her before I existed anywhere else. Subhan Allah indeed.
The woman who raised me, Olga, died four years ago on 2/22. She was the village my parents had to pay for because we didn't have the kind of family that would move in with each other. Two weeks ago, in church, a baby got baptized and the sermon was about those people who love us with absolute undivided generosity and who imprint that into us when we are young and all I thought of was Olga. I took Olga for granted so much in my teenage years and in my early adulthood--she was always in the background (partly because she didn't speak English and so had to sit out many social functions). But even as I rushed about, she would rub me with her thick, soft, leathery hands and pray over me. Two nights before she died, I started getting visions of her--words in Spanish coming into my mind even though I no longer speak it in the house. I knew she was sick because she'd moved back home to Colombia and her daughter would text me and we spoke on the phone every once in a while. And even though her spirit started warning me, I didn't call her in the days leading up to her death. When she died it it me so hard--this was a person who had given decades of her life to loving me. She was never rushing off. She was always there. The background, it turns out, is actually the foreground. The purest love I had ever known. I expect that MANY of the young people in my life will treat me with the same apparent indifference I offered Olga. But I also know that someday, the love I had and gave will hit them as deeply as the love you've expressed for / from Teta. I hope not in guilt, but in gratitude.
Isabel this moved me so deeply. Your description of Olga and your relationship with her hits home for me. Even though the details were different the sense of that relationship is the same sense I had in mine with Teta...
"The background, it turns out, is actually the foreground" - This FLOORED me.
Beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing.
I'm glad Noha brought me this memory.
I wasn't VERY close to my grandmother, (because she spoke fully in Punjabi and I couldn't understand her when I was younger.) but I had a nice bond with her. I'd show her all the little paintings and crafts I'd make and she'd be SO happy. And I remember her scent.
Her scent!!! So specific I love it.
And oh my God there's a whole other essay about the friction of the language, isn't there. She couldn't talk to you in another language, and you couldn't understand her well in the language she did talk. And yet it seems important that she still spoke it to you, don't you think?
Yes ✨️🥲 As I got older, I could understand her better though
Great article. It shows the quiet presence of those who shape us and how their love woven into our earliest days often goes unnoticed until they are gone. Although the weight of such regrets does linger, but so does the realization that love transcends memory. Perhaps Teta like so many others who have passed away know... Perhaps love, once given so fully, never fades, even when words and moments do. Thank you for this write-up!
These words are all very comforting.
My grandmother was born in 1896 and by the time US women got the vote in 1920 she had an alcoholic husband and two small boys (my father was her third, in 1922). I asked her what it was like to watch horses be replaced by cars in Houston, Texas, but never thought to ask her what - if any - reaction she had when she was free to vote for the first time. I don't know how many times she voted, for that matter; she was a single mom, worked a menial office job until she was 70, and loved her bowling leagues. There is so much I would ask her if I could, and so many regrets that I never did, even though she lived until I was in my 30's.
Kristine, I so relate. The questions we think of after it's too late. I wish I could have asked my grandmother what it was like growing up in the 30s in Egypt, and how much her life changed from that time to her old age. How she navigated all that. What she loved most and what bothered her. I see her more as a person now than I did when she was alive, and I hope that I have a chance to sit with her in heaven, to tell her I love her, to thank her for looking after me, and to ask these questions.
She knows dear Noha...she knows. 💕
Oh! I hope so and I pray so. Thanks Casey.
Agree. Yes, she knows.
Both my grandmas are still alive, and i can see them face to face every few months. They love me very much (i won't go into details here), and i love them, too. Btw, my grandmas are sisters.
Oh my goodness that is amazing!!!
Yes, really amazing. When i visit them and listen to their stories, i can see how they've lived during all these years.
Wow!
Yeah, family is very important for me.🙂
My paternal grandparents were not very nice people, so, no, I don't have great memories of the grandmother. My maternal grandmother apparently adored me, but she died when I was very young. I've long wished I could've known her...
I'm sorry you never really knew her, Michael. I hope you feel like that adoration seeped into your cells too.
And I'm sorry about your paternal grandparents. It's complicated isn't it, to have people in our family chain that we don't feel good about.
Oh this is beautiful. I was fortunate to grow up living just down the street (2 houses) from my maternal grandparents and aunt, who lived with them. I spent countless hours at their place, eating her delicious molasses cookies (try as I might, I have never been able to duplicate them). She passed away when I was in 4th grade. My memories of her are mostly of a strong, capable presence.
My paternal grandmother lived about 6 hours away, so we only saw them about twice a year. She lived to be 101, so I have more developed, adult memories of her. She was another no-nonsense woman, capable and efficient.
Thanks for spurring a trip into my memories. I think I need to take some time to sit down and write out what I remember of these women.
Awwww Rea yes please write about them.. I love the specificity of those memories. I am so sad that I don't have more specifics to remember. It feels like a betrayal of my mind. She did so much for me.
My paternal grandparents both died before I was even born so I have no memories of them and only a couple of pictures to go off of for even what they looked like.
I guess I’m calling my grandmother tonight. Your words are so beautiful and human. ❤️
Thank you hon... hold her close while you still have her...
My closest was my Ah Ma, my paternal grandmother, who lives next door to me. My strongest memory of her was when she lived with us when I was 5. Afterward, I remember going next door to her to help me with my school projects; my favorite was when I had to make a scrapbook of my family tree. I got to hear so many stories from Ah Ma then. Sadly, though, as I grew older, I went over next door less and less. We kids, especially teenies, don't know what's precious until much later. We will all come back around at some point. We all do. And I hope I also have the grace to accept and wait for my children to go to their realization in their own time. Love given unconditionally lives on in the soul of the recipient….
Rachel this is such a beautiful story and a wonderful realization. I feel the same way about how we don't notice the gifts that we have until much later. Amen to your hopes and wishes.
Beautiful tribute. May Allah bless your grandmother’s soul. What you say about her blending into the background to get things done, it makes me think of something an artist said, talking about her lack of fame and her emphasis on her art over her personality. She basically said “I’m not doing this to be known because I’m already known by God.” We live in this age of wanting to be seen but what are we doing? Your grandmother was doing. And here she is being remembered. Maybe your grandmother has the mind of an artist. ❤️
Wow Ambata this really really hit me. Beautiful reflection. Thank you.
Thank you for reminding us to honor our ancestors!
It took me a while to write a comment here, after you tagged me in this sensitive topic I have been contemplating a lot as well recently. It can’t be a coincidence.
I had a complex relationship with my grandma, or nona, as I called her. After she passed away 5 years ago, she visited me quite often in my dreams too. Now a bit less often than before. I will remain private about our story, but I wanted to share that only two weeks ago, I feel that I finally found a resolution between her and me. 🤍
So interesting, Nilda. And I love the idea that there are no coincidences here... I'm so glad you found a resolution and that you feel better about it all. May she rest in peace.
This is so beautiful. Thank you for sharing her with us.
awww thanks so much.
I'm writing a piece now about my grandma Ruth, who was really my step-grandmother, my grandfather's second wife. She came into my life when I was six and didn't pass out of it, until I was in my late 30's and my youngest child was two. She was fiery, dramatic, opinionated, and also loved me fiercely. I still feel her presence with me. Thank you for sharing this Noha. These people who care for us, their influence is palpable.
Emily that's beautiful that you had her for so long. Here's to the caregivers.
Yes and yes:)
What a lovely piece, Noha. I adore that you told the story of your grandmother cutting her braids. It makes me think of the bits we inherited from those who came before us and the different ways certain traits or tendencies show up in different bodies. And how wonderful that your younger self got that time with her.
Thanks Holly. That story always stayed with me because it showed me a willfulness in her that I never personally noticed.
I know she contributed to my softness and my sense of security in being loved.