Strong Women...
So, for those of you I haven't already told, I'll tell you here... Two days ago, my Aunt Irene (mentioned at least once in this blog already) passed away after a bout with stomach cancer. I hate that phrase by the way -- "passed away" -- but I say it because it somehow sounds crass to people if you just say died. But we're talking about a woman who was worried about being buried in a mausoleum because she thought the music in there was awful. So maybe I can just say she died.
But that isn't the point of this blog. The point of this is something completely different, about the things we hand down from generation to generation. Denise (my sis for those who don't know her) and I are the first ones in our family who would openly identify ourselves as feminists. But the fact that we are isn't really an anomoly in the family because what we see in our family is the generations of women who have come before us who have demonstrated their strength in countless ways.
My great-grandmother (dad's side) was a good wife and mother of 5. But she was also an immigrant who came here on a boat by herself and worked as a nanny for a family that she had never met before. She also brought her children back to Scotland by herself during the Great Depression when her husband lost his business and couldn't support them all by herself. My great-grandmother on mom's side had a similar immigrant experience though she was younger and more alone, and from a place even less welcome in the US.
My grandmother on mom's side was a peace maker. She was the one that family turned to when there was a fight or an argument and she worked with both parties until they were friendly again. I see this in my mom, who hates for anyone to disagree, and in my sister and me, who treasure our friends and family to the extreme and just want everyone to get along.
My grandmother on my dad's side was tough. She was sometimes difficult and sometimes misunderstood, but above all, she was tough. The things that my mom says are "just like my father" are also just like my grandmother. She was clever and smart and stubborn.
My aunt Irene, mentioned earlier was mentioned earlier in this blog as being sweet, and old and a lady, but never a sweet old lady. She and my uncle had an amazing relationship that I see as a model. They loved each other and cared for each other through good times and bad for well over 50 years. They raised a family together and she was never afraid to speak her mind. Despite the time she grew up in, I always see her and my uncle as equals in their relationship, and though she wouldn't call herself a feminist, she's a model I carry with me. Years ago, when my mom's mother died, my aunt promised that she would look out for my mom, and she has done that and more.
My mom and my sister are all the things from all of those who came before us. When people describe me or my sister as being like our grandmother, it is because we are also like our mother. Though she may not have seemed tough, never push her into a corner. She will come out swinging -- to protect her familly and her loved ones, much moreso than to protect herself. I see in her the things I saw in my aunt Irene and I know that it is the legacy of my Russian immigrant family that I will carry forward (with my sis) into the future generations.
And so, in the only memorial I can give to my Aunt, I say thank you. For all that you have given us, and for the future we will give back that we hope can make you proud.
But that isn't the point of this blog. The point of this is something completely different, about the things we hand down from generation to generation. Denise (my sis for those who don't know her) and I are the first ones in our family who would openly identify ourselves as feminists. But the fact that we are isn't really an anomoly in the family because what we see in our family is the generations of women who have come before us who have demonstrated their strength in countless ways.
My great-grandmother (dad's side) was a good wife and mother of 5. But she was also an immigrant who came here on a boat by herself and worked as a nanny for a family that she had never met before. She also brought her children back to Scotland by herself during the Great Depression when her husband lost his business and couldn't support them all by herself. My great-grandmother on mom's side had a similar immigrant experience though she was younger and more alone, and from a place even less welcome in the US.
My grandmother on mom's side was a peace maker. She was the one that family turned to when there was a fight or an argument and she worked with both parties until they were friendly again. I see this in my mom, who hates for anyone to disagree, and in my sister and me, who treasure our friends and family to the extreme and just want everyone to get along.
My grandmother on my dad's side was tough. She was sometimes difficult and sometimes misunderstood, but above all, she was tough. The things that my mom says are "just like my father" are also just like my grandmother. She was clever and smart and stubborn.
My aunt Irene, mentioned earlier was mentioned earlier in this blog as being sweet, and old and a lady, but never a sweet old lady. She and my uncle had an amazing relationship that I see as a model. They loved each other and cared for each other through good times and bad for well over 50 years. They raised a family together and she was never afraid to speak her mind. Despite the time she grew up in, I always see her and my uncle as equals in their relationship, and though she wouldn't call herself a feminist, she's a model I carry with me. Years ago, when my mom's mother died, my aunt promised that she would look out for my mom, and she has done that and more.
My mom and my sister are all the things from all of those who came before us. When people describe me or my sister as being like our grandmother, it is because we are also like our mother. Though she may not have seemed tough, never push her into a corner. She will come out swinging -- to protect her familly and her loved ones, much moreso than to protect herself. I see in her the things I saw in my aunt Irene and I know that it is the legacy of my Russian immigrant family that I will carry forward (with my sis) into the future generations.
And so, in the only memorial I can give to my Aunt, I say thank you. For all that you have given us, and for the future we will give back that we hope can make you proud.
