Waving Goodbye

It was dark when she left, bundled in her winter coat; full of hugs, fresh air and cookies. She was five and she was exhausted from a day of entertaining her grandparents and being the center of attention all day. I stood at the window, watching her mother, my grown daughter, strap her little girl in her car-seat. After they were settled, they looked to the picture window where they knew I would be standing. They drove off, as I blew her a kiss and waved, until I could no longer see them, just as my grandmother always did.

My grandmother was the sweetest woman I ever knew, and had the inexplicable gift of making me feel like I was her only grandchild, although she had 10 others. I didn’t see her very often, as we lived 500 miles away, but when I did, she was all mine, or at least she made me feel that way. Our visits were never long enough, and when we prepared to leave her house at dawn, she would be awake and downstairs in her pink fluffy robe. She always fluttered about, handing my parents care packages for the 8 hour trip full of things my mother never bought (Twinkies! Goldfish!) and, finally hugging me one last time, she always tucked money in my hand. Climbing in the backseat, I would spin around to see her. She was always there, clutching her robe, and waving goodbye. She never stopped waving until I could no longer see her, and I turned around with a lump in my throat, thinking of her going back in without me. She was the only grandparent I ever knew, but she was more than enough.

My mother waves goodbye to her children and grandchildren when we leave too, although her example was her mother-in-law, as her own mother died when she was 13. Still, she stands with the door half open and waves until we can no longer see her. She is a symbol of love, and a reminder that I will be missed. Is there anything sweeter in life than to know that you are special to someone, even if it is your own mother?

So, this small act of love comes naturally to me and probably to my three sisters too, although I’ve never talked to them about it. The women in my family are all very different in their appearances, political beliefs, education and career choices, but we have raised our children very similarly. How could we not, when the maternal figures we emulate were so kind and so sweet and so very motherly?

It is because of these examples, that I have no doubt that one day, my daughter will stand at the window, or the door and wave to her own grandchildren, until they can no longer see her. Then, they will turn around in their car seats, a lump in their throats, but with a fullness of heart knowing with this one gesture, that they are loved and missed, just I have always known.