A Generation Lost

I just got word that my maternal grandmother passed away. She was my last remaining grandparent. My mom is down, of course. I've always been someone who takes loss in stride. It wasn't until recently that I actually lost someone close to me. I'd lost family members in the past. But I've never really had a relationship with those who were lost. The same goes with my grandmother who just passed away. I think I met her once or twice, but neither time was when I was old enough to remember.

It's even more amazing because I was raised by a generation who was raised by their grandparents. My father, my mother less so. But that's an interesting generational difference. It's a result of probably two things. One, blacks moving West and leaving a lot of family back East. And two, just not having a lot of money to travel back East regularly and the older family members back East not having the money to travel West. It's sad because I really would have liked to have had a relationship with them. My paternal grandmother died long before I was born. She died of pneumonia after undergoing successful breast cancer surgery at 33 years old. My father was only 17 at the time. I would be born 20 years later. My maternal grandfather passed away just a few years ago. I don't remember ever meeting him. He was legally blind. My paternal grandfather was the one I saw the most. We've actually talked before, and embraced. He was big on family and had some money so he could travel. But it was hard to have a real relationship with him because he had so many kids, and his kids had so many kids. When you're one of thirty-some grandchildren, you can get lost in the crowd. He died of stomach cancer a few years ago.

People pass so quickly. One moment you hear they're sick and the next you hear they didn't make it. Regardless of whether or not we had a relationship. I still feel her. The same with anyone who has even tangentially touched my life. You feel it. It's not sadness. It's more of a surreal reminder of just how fleeting things are. How we grow, age, and die, living on through the echoes of our voices. They memories of past laughter imprinted in the minds of people we knew. The positive things we've done. The impact we've had on others' lives. The spirits of our ancestors whisper through the ages and can be heard in the laughter of a new generation. A grandparent dies--a nephew born. Another soul to join the ebb and flow. To mature and create their own way through the vicissitudes of life. I'm reminded of the masterpiece by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude. Death and renewal. The constant flux of time. A generation is lost--another initiated.

To Mrs. Idora J. May you always be remembered. May thoughts of you be cherished for all time.