Faded Photographs...

For some reason, this has always been my favourite photograph of my daughter.  I came across this picture in a photo album the other day.  I always thought she was the cutest little girl in the entire world, and she was also very funny.  She was happy and jolly and laughed a lot.  She was not the perfect child, for sure, and could throw a pretty good temper tantrum like the best of them, but that was not very often.  She was curious and inquisitive, and at a very early age she showed an intellectual curiosity that both her grandparents and I nourished.  Her grandfather called her "Kidlet" and teased her that she was a "hidebound reactionary" because she had very conservative views, and my father was a bit of an early-day Hippy.  A jazz-loving Beatnik, as it were.   But he adored her, as did my mother.  My daughter and her grandmother were very close, and her grandmother loved her to pieces.  They had a special bond, an invisible golden thread between them, and my daughter was holding her grandmother's hand when "Gambie" took her last breath.

Lately I have been feeling my mother's presence, very strongly.  I can almost smell her perfume and hear her voice.  My daughter has been going through a teeny bit of a rough patch lately, and I can very much feel that my mother is looking after her.  It's difficult to explain, but I feel it as surely as if she were right here.  Can that be possible?  Love like that never dies, does it?  The bond remains and can break through the veil that separates us from the ones we love who have passed on.  And it goes both ways.  I am almost certain that Gambie knows her granddaughter needs her right now.  I hope the message is heard -- loud and clear.  I have a feeling it is.