Growing up, one of my favorite moments has always been sitting in my grandmother’s kitchen with her and my mother, discussing all sorts of different topic, while the day’s meal was simmering on the stove.
Just the three of us, three women of three different generations and different ways of thinking- we are each the product of our times after all.
Yet we are also remarkably similar in so many ways. The dimples, the non-brown eyes, being headstrong, always thinking ahead but at the same time maybe worrying a bit too much about the things we could not control. The unyielding love for family and the sense of togetherness.
As I sat today with my mother in my grandmother’s hospital room, praying that she could go home soon, I thought back to those many afternoons we have shared in that kitchen.
Where whatever conversation we were having ultimately turned to my grandmother yelling (nicely) at me to stop wearing my hair down because according to her, it looks better when it is pulled back. My mother would then take hold of the conversation to discuss my latest weight fluctuation and remind me to diet and exercise.
I’ve learned that the more things change, the more they stay the same. As we sat in that hospital room, so impersonal and almost-sterile, my grandmother was overcoming the pain she was feeling having just undergone hip surgery just to tell me to pull my hair back because she wanted to see my face. This was after my mother commented that I should probably be eating more salads to lose weight.
And like I have done many many times before, I took out a hair tie and did just that.