I saw my paternal grandmother’s obituary today. It was beautifully written and gave me a glimpse of a woman I will never have a chance to meet. She was 91. She had been married 70 years, he (my paternal grandfather) survives.
The obituary states that she loved to garden, craft and cook. That she had many children, one of her sons being my biological dad. I met him once, briefly… I look like him as much as I look like my mother and that is saying a lot. The perfect mix of the two. I find myself staring at the obituary for this woman wondering if I too, look like her.
I am caught in a twilight reading this news about a woman I do not know, who’s blood courses through my own veins. Saddened that she lived so long and I still never had the chance to know her. Curious if she knew about me and if so did she ever wonder about me?
How similar are we to those we share bloodlines too? Part of me hopes not at all for my child’s sake. Part of me hopes maybe a little for my own simple wonderment of a woman I never met.
What a strange feeling.