I'm surprised to find that the opposite is true too. Having Claire has connected me to my past in ways that I never could have imagined.
I find myself telling Claire stories of her long gone relatives. “Your great-grandpa made that lamp," I say as I amble around the apartment with her in my arms. “Wait til you see your great-grandma’s Christmas ornaments," as I share what’s in store for her this December. “My gramps used to love to whistle when I was little. I was so jealous that I couldn’t," I reminisce.
When I look at her, I see the line of my grandmother’s chin and the set of her jaw. I pointed this out to my Uncle Dave, as we watched her napping as an infant. He said “Well, when she’s sleeping she looks a lot like Nanny." I said, “Yeah. Nanny sure loved to sleep." We both had a good laugh thinking of days past.
My father died when I was young, and my husband has always lamented the fact that he never got to know him. It hasn’t happened yet, but perhaps Claire will have his strong will or display one or more of his mannerisms...then, George can get a glimpse.
Of course, I also see bits of George and myself in her. Finding our shared traits is delightful and warms my heart.
But there is something more significant about seeing generations gone resurrected in my daughter. In her birth, Claire has given me an invaluable look back.
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