This morning’s t’ai chi chih class was taught by a substitute teacher–the mother of my regular teacher. It was eerily wonderful to see the same tilt of the head, the same gesture overtake the fingers on a smaller set of hands, a similar look of joy on an older face.
This past week during the visit from my son and his family, my younger daughter and my son’s wife pointed out the similarities between my son, my older daughter, his oldest child, and me. It’s the way we walk, they said. Some basic body language. Which is not remarkable at all. Unless you have been separated by adoption. I see some of these resemblances, too. In my role as grandmother it feels sometimes that I have been yanked backwards in time when I catch my oldest granddaughter out of the corner of my eye. Like some portal has been slit open and I’m slipping back a dozen years into my older daughter’s childhood. Once again, not remarkable at all. Unless I’d never found my son. In that case, I wouldn’t know that my granddaughter existed.
|The photo above is the daughter in 2011 at age 25|
|The granddaughter in 2012 at age 11|